


Aftermath

by deliriumbubbles



Series: In Remembrance of Kitt Allan [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, M/M, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliriumbubbles/pseuds/deliriumbubbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night while walking home, Kurt hears someone being attacked in an alley. Unable to ignore the cries, Kurt rushes to help. While the attack is over in minutes, the consequences for Kurt linger on, physically and psychologically, as he copes with his injuries, his memories, and his deteriorating relationship with Blaine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Co-authored with J. W. Melmoth
> 
> Warnings: assault, homophobic slurs, violence, dub-con, depression
> 
> A/N : We started this fic after discussions about the spoilers for ‘Bash’ and our suspicions that Glee would handle the plot badly and leave no on-screen time for Kurt to come to terms with the attack. The timeline is thus altered beginning with 100/New New Directions. This fic is not for Blaine/Klaine fans.

**This chapter deals explicitly with the bashing; please heed the warnings.**  
 

 **KURT**  
  
“I’m just saying that maybe you shouldn’t sing at the Spotlight diner  _all_  night,  _every_ night!” Kurt sounded exasperated. It had been a long night, and it had felt even longer during Blaine’s 15 minute Roxy Music medley. The people in Kurt’s section had been especially annoyed, and expressed their displeasure by emptying a ketchup bottle on their table and writing rude messages in it. (They also left without leaving a tip).

"That’s easy for you to say, Kurt," Blaine replied. "You get to sing at school every day! You have no idea what it’s like living in the city of Broadway without any creative outlet!"

Kurt didn’t bother correcting him. He didn’t sing at NYADA every day. He had a lot of other classes; dance, theatre, musical theory…but mentioning that to Blaine would fall on deaf ears. So would reminding him that he, too, had lived in New York without a place at NYADA (or a job as a singing waiter). At this point, Blaine just wanted to be pitied, not contradicted. But after their long shift at the diner, Kurt wasn’t in the mood to humour him.

"Well, you don’t want us to get fired, do you?" he argued. "Gunther is enough on our case as it is. He says people tip better when the girls sing."

Blaine rolled his eyes. “That’s because he makes them get up on the bar in those short skirts! It’s so cheap!”

Kurt sighed as he followed Blaine towards the subway. “It’s what the people want. Sometimes you just have to accept that.”

"Is that what they teach you at NYADA?" Blaine volleyed back. "Give the people what they want even if it means selling yourself? Then maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t get in."

Kurt halted. Something had snapped inside of him. “Look, Blaine - I get that you’re upset about getting rejected. Trust me, I know what it feels like. But you have to stop bringing it up every time we disagree on something like it’s my fault!” he said angrily, ignoring the looks of the people passing by.

Blaine made a face. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought we agreed to talk about the things that bother us, but clearly that only goes one way,” he replied sarcastically. “I guess it’s okay for  _you_  to bring up the cheating every chance you get, or complain to me how its such hard work answering Isabelle’s phone, but you want  _me_  to shut up about something that _really_  impacted my life.”[](http://deliriumfics.tumblr.com/post/81860849586/fic-aftermath-1-10#_msocom_1)

Kurt started to object, but Blaine continued. “Why don’t I just quit my job at the Spotlight diner and sit at home in the apartment when you’re off to work? Shall I cook and clean, too?”

Kurt’s jaw dropped. Now Blaine was going too far. “You haven’t cleaned anything since you moved in!” he protested. “I’m always picking up after you; you leave your shoes everywhere, you use up all the towels in the bathroom, and I have to wash our sheets every second day because you refuse to wash your hair before coming to bed!”

Blaine looked outraged. “You know what?” he said, throwing his hands in the air dramatically as a sign of resignation, “Whatever. You know how insecure I am about my hair, and for you to bring it up during a fight, I just- I can’t. Let’s just go home.” He turned away and started walking. Kurt had no choice but to follow if he didn’t want to stand there by himself.

Kurt didn’t have much motivation to catch up with him, though. They could probably both use a few moments to cool. Talking to Blaine when he was like this never seemed to resolve anything.

Kurt rolled his shoulders back, trying to relieve the tension there. It felt like he was being gnawed on between the shoulder blades by a little gremlin born of dance class, tedious customers, and trying to avoid fights with his fiancé. As he reached back to massage his right shoulder, his ears perked at sounds too familiar.

Deep threatening voices. A distraught, “Stop!”

Kurt’s body went rigid. On impulse, he turned and sprinted toward the sound of the voices, which were rapidly getting louder and more frantic.

“Shuddup, faggot!”

“Get  _off me_ , fucker!” 

A guttural wail launched into the air.

Kurt followed the sound into an alleyway. The figures came into view. Three large men towered over a small mocha-skinned drag queen with smeared black eye makeup and her wig askew on her head. One of the men was clutching his crotch. In an instant, Kurt surmised that she’d dug her heel into him. The injured man swooped down and grabbed her around the neck, and Kurt just  _knew_ he would  _never_  let her go.

Vaguely, he heard Blaine calling to him. Kurt spared a glance backward, where Blaine was hissing, “Stop! Get back here!”

Kurt ignored it and sprung forward at full speed.

“Don’t, Kurt! You can’t do  _anything_!”

There was no time. No one else would get here before it was too late.

“Hey! Assholes! Pick on someone your own size!” Okay, granted, Kurt was nowhere near their size, but he bellowed for all he was worth.

It only took moments for the two other men to round on him. One was tall and muscular, the other short and heavy-set, but both looked equally threatening. Kurt set his jaw and widened his stance. He’d never successfully fended off an attack before. In high school, he mostly hadn’t tried, since he would have been punished along with his attacker, and meeting their aggressions tended to only make things worse.

The stakes were higher now.

“Get. Off. Her,” Kurt ordered.

His posturing was met with laughter. As the men approached, Kurt lifted onto his toes, arching his back, and in a swift, graceful arc, kicked his leg up. His boot connected with the big brute’s unshaven chin. The man was just as surprised as Kurt that his blow actually landed, and the jolt of meeting resisting flesh under his heel nearly toppled Kurt over. Years of muscle memory from high kicks in dance class helped him keep his balance, and when the man stumbled back into his friend, Kurt scurried over to the little drag queen. The third man had released her neck and dropped her to the ground. He looked up at Kurt, a sneer on his lips.

“Are you fucking kidding me, faggot? Are you fucking kidding me?! Do you think you’re a fucking ninja or something?” His victim moved to get up and received a hard kick to keep her down.

Kurt’s eyes went to her. She didn’t move. Kurt’s heart beat out a swift rhythm in his chest.

The man barrelled toward him. With the other two closing off the exit to the alley, Kurt had nowhere to go. The man’s hand enclosed around Kurt’s throat, and he threw Kurt against the brick wall of the building. The others advanced as Kurt struggled against the iron grip on his neck. Thoughts flitted half-formed out of his panicked brain.

_I’m gonna to die._

… _could I see Finn again?_

_Dad…_

And then: _No._

His foot came up, once again, and he slammed it into the man’s already tender crotch.

Kurt didn’t hesitate. The moment his attacker’s hold loosened, Kurt dropped down and swung his leg around. The man toppled backward, and Kurt launched himself away from him.

But then, there were the other two, and he was just one slim-figured theatre student. They grabbed his shoulders from behind, keeping out of reach from his kicking legs. They threw him forward against the wall, caught him as he tried to escape, threw him once more. Kurt fell to the ground. Blows rained down on him as he tried to shield himself with his arms. He heard a breathy, strangled noise to the side of him. If Blaine hadn’t called the police  _immediately_ , this fierce little fighter who had probably sterilized Mr. Choke-hold was not going to make it.

 _Kurt_ might not make it.

He felt dizzy. His arms went limp. The men stopped. They were laughing, but they were done. They scattered under the streetlights like cockroaches as a stray, distant whoop of a police car sounded. Kurt carefully opened his eyes in disbelief, but remained still as a corpse. His eyes followed the sight of their weathered shoes hurrying away.

Kurt didn’t understand. What had been the point? What was the point of  _any_  of it? His fingertips moved over the tender skin of his neck, and he stared up at the clear summer sky. Where was Blaine? Had he gone off to look for help? It wasn’t that late. The streets had been crowded. Other people had to have heard what had been happening. Other people passing by had to have  _seen_.

But there was no one to see now. If anyone cared to.

Kurt shakily began to move. He didn’t have the wherewithal to catalogue his aches. He just crawled along the concrete, slowly, toward the crumpled figure near the dumpster. The crawl seemed to take forever, and Kurt’s throat burned with every heaving breath. Eventually, he settled by her side.

Her face was so bruised and swollen that Kurt doubted he could identify her even if he _had_  seen her before tonight. With a gentle touch, he pulled her torn dress closed and pinned her midnight blue wig back in place. Then, he took her hand, her once perfectly groomed nails torn and bloodied (he must have missed the slashing she’d given one of the men), and gave the cold fingers a squeeze. Years of feeling so isolated and helpless himself, and Kurt simply couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking no one was there to hold her hand.

After a few beats, she squeezed back, faintly.

“We’re gonna be alright,” Kurt said. Or rather, croaked. “Of all the times for my voice to finally break.”

She made a funny wheezing sound. Laughing. Kurt lay down, feeling spent. Feeling more bone-weary than he ever had in his life. He knew he would have to get up. He needed to  _do_  something, but his instinct kept him there by her side.

Kurt felt it as her hand finally went slack. Her laboured breaths ceased. But he still couldn’t move.

*  
 **BLAINE**

Blaine listened closely and made a face when he no longer heard Kurt’s footsteps behind him. He took a deep breath and sighed audibly, putting his hands in his sides as he waited for Kurt to see reason. He didn’t understand why Kurt had to let out his frustration about his bad day on him. All he had done was try to cheer people up at the diner!

What was taking so long? Blaine turned around at his fiancé and was just about to tell him to get over himself, when Kurt walked into a side street. Blaine frowned and followed at a distance. He froze when he saw what Kurt was walking into. He was going to break up a fight?  _Kurt?_

Immediately, Blaine called out for him to come back. It was too dangerous- and most of all, it wasn’t their problem. Kurt ignored him. Blaine called him again, reminding him that it was pointless. What could he possibly do? Kurt might be taller than Blaine, but he was a lightweight, really.  _Blaine_ was the fighter of the two of them, the one who founded the Dalton Fight Club, who could hold his own among the guys. What chance did Kurt have against those men?

But Kurt threw himself into the fray, bringing attention to himself by calling out, and as two of the men rounded on him, Blaine panicked and jumped out of sight. With his back pressed against the wall, he listened. What was happening? He didn’t dare to look. He heard the men shout, followed by the dull noise of blows and kicks against something solid.  _They’re killing him_ , Blaine thought, feeling himself panic. Tears began to well up in his eyes. He tried to make himself move, but it was like he was frozen to the cold stone behind him.

_I have to do something!_

He searched the street for someone to help, but everyone seemed intent on ignoring him. Cars were driving by, but they were too fast for him to stop. Finally, he remembered to pull out his phone and call 911. After describing the situation, the woman on the line told him to stay put and wait for the police, which comforted Blaine a little. They didn’t expect him to fight. He slowly sank to the ground and sat there, trying to block off the sounds coming from the alley.

Blaine wasn’t sure how long it took. After a while, he heard sirens, and he wasn’t the only one. Three men came running from the alley and spread in three different directions. Blaine saw one flash past him, walking at an uneven, strange trot like he was in pain. Blaine pressed himself closer against the wall, terrified that the man might see him. He was a witness - what if the guy was carrying a weapon? The sirens began to grow louder. Then cars were slowing down and driving to the side to make room, and people were (finally) stopping to look. Why were the police taking so long? Were they looking for a fucking parking spot?? With his eyes closed tightly, Blaine tried to hear any sounds from the alley, but heard nothing.

After what seemed like forever, uniformed men came towards him on the street. Blaine rose to his feet and held up a shaking hand, still clutching his phone, to signal that he was the one who called. He pointed wordlessly at the alley. They hurried past him, and finally, Blaine remembered how to use his legs. He followed them slowly, reluctant to see the damage the blows he had listened to had done.

What he saw almost made him sick. Two people lay on the ground; one of them was Kurt. He wasn’t moving. There was blood on his face, and his eyes were closed.

“Kurt!” Blaine called out. He propelled himself towards his fiancé, but an officer blocked his way before he could reach him. “Kurt!” Blaine repeated his name again and again, struggling against the tall man restraining him. Another officer was requesting an ambulance. He could hear them say that Kurt was alive, and stopped fighting. Kurt was alive. He would be okay.

*

 **KURT**  
  
Kurt woke up to the sound of a familiar (and quite angry) voice. “What do you mean,  _I’m not family_? I am his fiancé!”

Kurt frowned. His head hurt, and every breath he took burned like someone had poured boiling water down his throat. His limbs felt heavier than they should, and there was a warm pressure on his ankle. Kurt wrenched his eyes open and saw his dad, his big hand clasped around his leg.

Burt smiled at him through red-rimmed eyes. “Hey buddy,” he said, his voice a little rough. Before he could say anything else, Blaine entered, holding a bouquet of yellow and red roses and looking livid.

"They wouldn’t let me through, can you believe that?" he said to Burt. "I mean,  _I_ was the one who called the police! I was worried sick and they- oh. Kurt! You’re awake!”

Kurt nodded carefully and swallowed. He tried to speak, but no words came out. As he wanted to give it another try, Burt shook his head.

"The doc said it’s better if you don’t talk for a bit, son," Burt said. "You have some bruising on the muscles in your, uh…voice box-"

"Larynx?" Blaine supplied.

"Yeah, that," Burt agreed, not reacting to the boy’s patronising tone. "But it’s okay, it’s all gonna go away in a couple of days. You’ll be fine, you hear me?"

Kurt, who had been feeling like a hand had gripped his throat again at the mention of his vocal chords, choking him up with the fear of losing the one thing that made him unique, let out a sob of relief. If his dad said he was going to be okay, he would be. He looked up at Blaine. His fiancé looked ready to cry.

"Why did you have to go and play the hero, Kurt?" he asked softly. "I almost lost you."

Kurt swallowed again and forced a small smile onto his lips. “Didn’t you- tell me to have … courage?” he whispered, his eyes watering from the pain in his throat. He didn’t blame Blaine for being too scared to act – not with his past – but to Kurt, ignoring the cries for help had never been an option.

"Did- did she make it?" he whispered, against all hope. He had lost all track of time after the attack. When had the ambulance come? Maybe, with CPR… He looked from Blaine to his dad, but knew the answer before either of them spoke. Burt’s lips pressed together in a thin line and he shook his head.

Tears started rolling down Kurt’s face. He tried to remember her laugh. He didn’t even know her name, and now she was gone.

"I think I want to sleep now," he said.

"I’ll stay," Blaine said immediately, but Burt, who had been looking at Kurt’s face the entire time, got up and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Let’s go, kid. Your boyfriend needs his rest."

Blaine gave Kurt a sad look and put the flowers down on the cart next to his bed. Kurt closed his eyes, trying to banish all thoughts.

*

In the following hours, Kurt slept as much as he could. Sleep was easy; easier than having to see the expressions on his dad’s face every time he looked at him, and  _much_ easier than thinking about what had happened. Three grown men had taken a person’s life - and laughed about it. They would have taken his too, had the police sirens not frightened them off. Kurt could not escape that fact. Every painful breath he took reminded him of the hands on his throat and the knowledge that he was only alive because they had stopped. His life had literally been in their hands.

Every waking moment, Kurt’s mind was going in circles, asking the same questions. How could anyone do something like that? What was so terribly wrong about their victim that made them feel like she deserved it? The worst thing was that Kurt knew the answers. People like them, who were different, who refused to live life the way others wanted them to, were always going to be targets. Life wasn’t safe for them; it wasn’t safe for Kurt in school, and just as he thought he had found a place out in the ‘real world’ that accepted him, it turned out his high school bullies were out there too- just older and stronger. More dangerous.

It was this feeling of helplessness, of utter lack of control, that Kurt wanted to run away from. He slept, aided by the painkillers, and when he couldn’t sleep any more, he pretended to, keeping his eyes closed. He knew he couldn’t keep it up forever, but he tried to hold on to it as long as he could. When his dad tried to wake him, telling him his friends had come to see him, Kurt turned away. He didn’t want them to see him like this, battered, unable to speak, with unwashed hair and hospital clothes.  _Soon_ , he told himself,  _soon I will go home and reassure everyone that I’m okay. I will be Kurt Hummel again, strong, unbreakable. I just need more time._

*

The only one he did not want to hide from was Blaine. It helped knowing that he had gone through the same thing. Kurt felt he didn’t have to hide his feelings in front of him, so as soon as his voice allowed it, he told him everything. Blaine listened quietly. Kurt could tell it was making him uneasy, but to his credit, he never told Kurt to stop. It helped to have someone to talk to, but it wasn’t easy to find moments that Burt wasn’t there. Kurt’s father stayed with him almost permanently, leaving his bedside only to get some food during the day and to sleep and change at his hotel. Kurt was glad when the doctor told him he no longer needed supervision for internal bleeding and was free to go home. Burt apparently felt the same way.

"I can’t wait to get out of here," he said happily, holding out Kurt’s shirt so he could slip into the sleeves. "After three days of this hospital’s cafeteria food, I really need a burger or something."

Kurt rolled his eyes. “What you  _need_  is Carole’s cooking,” he countered. He shrugged on the shirt, sighing at how normal it made him feel after wearing a hideous hospital gown for days. He tried to button it up with one hand. The fingers of his other hand were splinted and useless. After a moment of fumbling, he gave up and let Burt help him. So much for normal. He couldn’t even dress himself! But Blaine lived at the loft now, so Kurt wouldn’t be alone.

"It’s time you go back to Lima," he reminded Burt. "You already missed one session of your counseling." Thursdays were the days Burt and Carole went to a couples’ grief therapy.

Burt made a face. Kurt knew he didn’t think very highly of therapy and was only going along to the sessions with Carole to support her, but it was important. It didn’t bring Finn back, but it gave the both of them the opportunity to talk about him and the pain of missing him.

"It’s important to her," Kurt added. "And I think it’s good for you, too. A lot of couples break up after the loss of a child."

 ”You’re my son. I need to be here,” Burt replied gruffly, avoiding Kurt’s eyes.

"She’s your wife, and she needs you too. I have Blaine, remember?" Kurt said.

Burt sighed and looked at his son. “I guess you’re right, but I just- …I’m sorry, but…you were  _with Blaine_  when this happened.” He gestured at the bruises on Kurt’s face.

Kurt schooled his features into a neutral expression. “I don’t blame him for what happened, dad. I blame the guys who actually beat me up.”

"Yeah, but-" Burt stopped as Blaine entered the hospital room, pushing a wheelchair.

"I can walk," Kurt said immediately. He might have a useless hand, but he wasn’t a complete invalid.

"It’s standard procedure apparently," Blaine said. "Come on, it’s just to the parking lot. I’ll push you."

Kurt took a deep breath and walked to the chair. His head spun a little, but he held his chin up. “I did a dance routine in a wheelchair, Blaine. If I can rock the boat, I can get myself to the parking lot.” He sat down and smiled at his dad. “I’ll be fine. Promise me you’ll fly back to Ohio today.”

"I will call you every day," his dad countered. "Twice."

Kurt nodded. He could keep himself together for a couple of calls. And with his dad taken care of, once Kurt was back in his own place, wearing his own clothes, with his friends  around him, everything would be easier. He would be able to start putting himself back together. He could be himself again, and work on grieving the person he’d lost in the alley.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: assault, homophobic slurs, violence, dub-con, depression
> 
> A/N : We started this fic after discussions about the spoilers for ‘Bash’ and our suspicions that Glee would handle the plot badly and leave no on-screen time for Kurt to come to terms with the attack. This fic is not for Blaine/Klaine fans.

**BLAINE**

“Urraagh!”

Blaine bolted up straight at the roar from their kitchen area. Kurt threw a pan into the sink with one hand and leaned against the counter in frustration.

“Y’know what? Choke me,  _fine_. Commit cold-blooded murder,  _whatever_. But could they not screw up my hand?” Kurt’s voice cracked in the force of his anger. “ _How_  am I supposed to go about my day? I’m  _tired_  of easy to slip on clothes and take out. I just want to make a freakin’ Croque Madame, is that so much to ask?”

Blaine stared at Kurt in disbelief.

“Okay, I’m  _not_  okay with the cold-blooded murder.” Kurt swallowed and looked away from Blaine, his brow creasing, and his hands shaking a little. Then he bowed over and pinched the bridge of his nose with his left hand and started breathing heavily.

“Kurt, c’mon.” Blaine got up finally. “It’s just  _eggs_. We can go down to the diner on the corner and get some.”

“I don’t  _want_  to go to the diner on the corner.” Kurt heaved a sigh and shook his head. “I want, I-I want to  _not see her face.”_

They hadn’t been home for more than a day and a half, and already Blaine sort of wished that the hospital had sent a home-care nurse. It had been one thing to listen to Kurt obsessing about the attack in the hospital, but he just kept  _reliving_  it. It was like he was doing it on purpose. Blaine didn’t know how he was supposed to help, exactly, because nothing he said made Kurt want to talk about it  _less_. Sometimes Kurt would just mutter quietly about how terrible people were, and others he just spoke in this eerie, calm and detached voice about things he remembered from the attack. This was the first time Kurt had really started  _yelling_  about it. Everything coming out of Kurt lately was so intense.

Blaine knew he was in for a long, meandering monologue on the subject, though. Sometimes Kurt would stop and ask him uncomfortable questions about the Sadie Hawkins dance. And then his eyes got big, and almost hopeful? Like what Blaine said about the attack at the dance would make everything make sense again.

Blaine  _really_  hoped that things got back to normal, soon. Kurt hadn’t gone on for  _that_ long about the death threats he’d gotten in high school. He’d had barely talked about the things he’d gone through at McKinley, except once, late one night right after he’d transferred to Dalton. Blaine had  _tried_  to listen back then, to be helpful. Whatever he’d said had caused Kurt to smile and then switch the subject to a ruthlessly cheerful discussion of what theatre shows were available in their sad, midwestern tri-city area. So that was good.

Blaine sincerely wished he could remember what he’d said. Seeing Kurt like this shook the very laws of physics. Gravity worked, and yet Kurt could not be kept down. He pulled through everything that had happened to him, and he did it with a song in his heart and a smart-assed crack on his lips about Kate Middleton. Seeing him not rise above it quickly was actually kind of terrifying.

And it left Blaine without a core part of his daily functioning. He needed Kurt-advice. He couldn’t just keep flailing here in New York. Blaine wanted to start auditioning for things. He knew Kurt would be able to tell him exactly where to go for that, because he’d been here so much longer. Sam needed some help adjusting to New York, too. But none of Kurt’s usual direction and support was coming. Kurt couldn’t think about anything else _but_  the attack. He didn’t even want to be  _touched_ , most of the time. It was like they were roommates with mental problems. Well, one roommate with mental problems, anyway. Blaine didn’t buy into that stuff, but if seeing a shrink gave Kurt someone  _else_ to talk to about this…? Really, anything to help him with the stuff that the doctors hadn’t been able to patch up. Maybe Blaine could get him hooked on a  _new_  obsessive interest. Kurt going on about a new television show, or cooking style, or the royal family would be much better than fixating on the attack.

“-and I just feel cold.” Kurt looked up, his eyes shining and vulnerable. “You know?”

“Well, yeah.” Blaine scratched the back of his head and looked around the loft. God, of all the times for Kurt’s annoying galpals to not be crowding the apartment. Why did Rachel have to stay out all day rehearsing for that stupid play? It wasn’t like she didn’t already know the entire thing backwards (as she insisted on showing them every time she  _was_  home). “Look, why don’t I get you some breakfast, huh? Your hand’ll heal eventually. You’ve just got to be patient.”

Kurt looked down and his shoulders heaved in a sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“So, eggs?”

“Sure. With cheese?”

Blaine came up to him, and Kurt lifted his head and permitted a kiss on the cheek. Then, Blaine grabbed his wallet and headed out the door. He gave a text to Sam, to see how the shoot was going. He could use a break, and Kurt would probably go back to bed before he got back, anyway.

*

**KURT**

Being at the loft wasn’t the relief Kurt had imagined it to be. He was still in a lot of pain and no matter what he did, he kept getting flashbacks. It was like someone had put the scene on repeat in his head.

It didn’t help that his hand was practically useless. After one day of being dressed in the morning and undressed in the evening, not to mention having to be helped in and out of his jeans every time he had to use the bathroom, Kurt had given in to Blaine’s suggestion of resorting to elastic waist pants, house shoes, and sweaters with extra wide necklines. It was almost like he was back to his hospital gown, and Kurt couldn’t feel more uncomfortable in his own skin. What he needed right now were his layers; the structure and support of his lace-up boots and corset vests, his accessories- even if they only metaphorically strengthened him.

Not even sleep was the refuge it had been at the hospital. Now that he was off most of his medication, Kurt’s nights had become restless and plagued with nightmares. No matter in which position he fell sleep, he always awoke on a damp pillow, curled up with his arms over his head, shielding himself from invisible blows.

The second morning back at the loft, he was not curled up alone. Kurt instinctively moved away from the warm body spooning him, still half-trapped in his nightmares. Blaine’s arms reached out and pulled him back against his chest. “It’s okay,” he said in a soothing voice. “You’re here with me.”

Kurt took several deep breaths and tried to relax. His heart was still beating rapidly in his chest, but he was awake now, and able to tell dreams from reality. No one was attacking him anymore, Blaine was here, he was real and-  _oh_. Very real, apparently. Kurt shifted his hips away. “I need to shower,” he mumbled.

"Come on, Kurt," Blaine coaxed, scooting forward to realign their bodies. "It’s my turn." His hand brushed Kurt’s stomach.

It was probably true- Blaine had surprised him on his first morning back at the loft by waking him with a blowjob, which hadn’t been entirely unwelcome, though Kurt’s abdominal muscles still hurt and having everything tense down there had been laced with pain as well as pleasure. He willed himself to stay still. Blaine’s stamina wasn’t at his peak the mornings anyway. As Blaine rubbed against him through his pajamas, his breathing speeding up, Kurt tried to decide which of his sweaters would pull focus away from the bruises on his face, and what he wanted for lunch.

  
*

Kurt stared at the pages of his book. He blinked slowly and let the words blur together. He was both exhausted all the way down to his marrow and completely disinclined to sleep.

“Kurt, where are the- Oh, never mind,” Blaine called from the bathroom.

“Glad to be of assistance,” Kurt called back. The apartment was so empty these days. It was like the place echoed. He’d use the opportunity to do some vocal exercises, but he was afraid to work on them before the doctor said it was okay. If he lost his voice completely, he didn’t know what he’d do.

He was really starting to miss the bustle of activity that usually filled their apartment. Even Sam, who was a frat-grade slob, wasn’t around. At least cleaning up after Sam would give him something to do… but then he might not be able to make himself do that. Kurt found himself discarding activities right in the middle of them and going to sit somewhere. He hoped Sam was enjoying his out of town modeling engagement. He wasn’t sure where the rest of his friends were.

It was kind of a relief, though. His face still looked like someone put it through an industrial kitchen mixer, and the rest of him looked like he’d gotten dressed in the dark. It took so much energy to perk up just for his father’s calls. Face-to-face action might be more than he could handle.

Blaine came out, brushing his hair flat to his head and whistling softly. He was in his diner uniform.

“Are you going to work?”

“Well, yeah. Wow, um. Y’know, I thought Rachel would be back by now. I can’t skip my shift though,” he said a little defensively as he set the brush down on the counter and opened the fridge.

“I didn’t ask you to.” Kurt closed his book and pulled his legs up to his chin.

“You’ll be okay here for a couple of hours,” Blaine continued.

Kurt wasn’t sure why he sounded so angry. “I’m not your retarded shiba inu. I’m not going to get scared and piss on the carpet if you leave me alone too long.”

“I- What?” Blaine turned to him with a glass of juice in his hand. “I didn’t mean anything _like_  that, Kurt. Why are you jumping all over me?”

“Just go to work. I’ll be fine.” Kurt gestured to his book. “Read a…” Then to the television. “Catch up on my… something.”

Blaine’s head drooped to the side, and he came over and gave Kurt a kiss on the temple. “Maybe when Rachel gets back, you guys can go out for a movie, or something, huh? You’ll be back to work soon, though, and then you won’t have to be so bored.”

Boredom was an entirely different state of being. There was no mistaking this feeling for boredom. But Kurt didn’t have the ability to clarify for Blaine. So far, Blaine hadn’t seemed to relate to much of Kurt’s feelings about the attack. It made Kurt wonder if he was broken, or something. Obviously, Blaine had dealt with this a lot better, healed much sooner, and stopped being such a waste of space.

Blaine patted Kurt’s back and hurried back into the bedroom area.

There was a rapping at the door, and Kurt stared at it for a moment. Another rapping, and his heart was racing in his chest.

“Kurt?” Blaine called.

Kurt pushed himself up and approached the door apprehensively. He was definitely going to demand that the landlord put in a peephole. Maybe this week. He slid open the door to reveal a woman of roughly medium height and build. She was wearing a lavender blouse and a blazer, and her dark hair was short and professional, with a long, sideswept bang. The highlights were minimal. He recognized the off-the-rack look, but someone had tailored the clothes to fit a bit better.

“Oh.” She looked him up and down through squarish glasses, then blinked a few times.

“Do I know you?” Kurt’s voice wavered. Something about her big eyes was familiar.

“It’s  _you_.” She pressed her palm to her cheek. “I didn’t- I’m  _sorry_. You’re Kurt Hummel?”

Kurt nodded slowly.

“I’m K’evondra Allan. I’m Stefin’s sister.”

Kurt tilted his head to the side. “I- I don’t know who that is?”

“Oh, um. Maybe you knew him as Kitten Fantastico. A lot of his friends called him Kitt.”

Tension rose in Kurt’s throat, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

_Kitt._

They had the same eyes. The same strong, but delicate jawline.

“God, you’re so  _fucking_  young.” She looked down and a tear escaped down her cheek. “Freaking. Sorry.”

“You can come in?” Kurt offered.

She nodded and followed him inside.

“Do you want anything?” he asked, almost out of habit. “Tea, or…?”

“Oh, God, no, honey. You don’t have to make me tea. I just wanted to  _meet_  you.” Her eyes scanned over the loft, then came back to him. “How old are you?”

Kurt frowned. Why did it matter? “Nineteen.”

“Stefin was twenty-three. Twenty-four in a few weeks. He was older than you.” She paused and dipped her head forward, touching her forehead lightly.

“Do you want to sit down?” Kurt asked.

Blaine came out, tucking his cell phone into his pocket, and shifting a bag over his shoulder. “Oh, hi. Sorry, I’ve got to go.” He looked at Kurt in askance.

“Go. I’ll see you tonight.”

“My shift is only a couple of hours-”

Kurt turned and said in a hushed but firm tone, “I’m  _fine._ ” He said a little louder, “This is K’evondra. She’s her sister. The-the girl-um,  _person_  that, um…”

“Huh?” Blaine looked at her for a minute, frowning.

“The alley, the person in the alley who…”

““Ohhh. Okay.”

“So, I’ll be fine, and you’ll assure the little troll that we all still work there.” Kurt eyed Blaine, who nodded, gave K’evondra a wave, and ducked out the door.

K’evondra’s eyes followed him, then returned to Kurt. “I’m sorry this is so weird. I wanted to meet you, but… we had to get the funeral arrangements together first, and there was talking to the police…” She sighed. “They haven’t found  _anything_. I don’t know if they’ve told you anything useful. I’ve had to call them practically a million times to find out where the investigation is going, and apparently they can’t find three big-ass white guys anywhere.”

“I don’t know that they were all white. One of them wasn’t so big, well, not  _tall_. I could only see so much in the alley… One of them had broken balls, that was for sure. And she scratched the hell out of one of them, so there had to be some DNA on the- on the, um.” Kurt’s eyes widened, and he lowered his head in shame. How could he talk about this in front of her? She’d lost a  _brother._ And he was talking about her dead brother’s _corpse_.

K’evondra touched his arm and guided him toward the sofa. “Honey,  _don’t_. I did  _not_ come here to grill you. If you want, we can go talk to the police again later, or not. I’d love to see those assholes nailed to the wall. All of us would, but… we can kind of guess what happened. Stefin passed a little too well sometimes, even when Kitten’s performances lended themselves to obvious camp, and that makes insecure, ugly,  _awful_ men even more ugly and awful.”

She rubbed up and down his arm with her small, strong hand. “What you did for my brother… it was  _so brave._  So many people won’t stop when they see someone in trouble.”

“I didn’t save him, though. He died there, in a dark, dirty alley. He  _died…_ ” Kurt’s voice started to crack as he shook his head. “And I couldn’t stop them, and help didn’t come, not fast enough, and- and all I could do w-was hold his hand…”

His cheeks were completely wet. K’evondra pulled him close into a hug.

“I’m  _glad_  you were there with him. I’m so sorry you got hurt, but I’m glad. He wasn’t _alone_.” She rubbed his back in large circles while he cried.

So hard. He couldn’t  _stop_ , and soon, Kitt’s big sister was crying softly as well.

—-

Kitt went to NYU. Kitt was majoring in history and gender studies. Kitt wanted to be a teacher, but hadn’t decided whether he wanted to go on to grad school or switch to education or something that would help him work with teenagers. Kitt was best friends with a trans girl named Katy, who also went to NYU and was majoring in business. Kitt was between relationships right now, but had been flirting with the idea of starting a relationship with a fellow performer who called herself The Green Demon, or a buff guy Kitt had met at work, but hadn’t yet properly introduced to K’evondra. K’evondra called the buff guy Señor Abulous.

Kitt was a big brother to everyone who knew him, and Kitten Fantastico was a big sister to all of her girls at the club where she sometimes performed. And since he was the second oldest of five kids who had lost their mother when he was twelve and his older sister K’evondra was seventeen, the way he took care of people was no surprise.

Kurt felt himself falling in love with this person he had only known alive for maybe fifteen minutes. He would’ve been friends with Kitt. He wasn’t sure if it made him feel better or worse to know Kitt through talking to K’evondra, but he definitely felt different after her visit. They’d talked for hours, after the crying, and she’d left, putting her card in his hand, and told him to give her a call if he needed to talk. He was invited to the memorial, a separate event from the funeral (which had already happened, privately, with the family).

“I’d… I’d like to go. But I-I’m not really good at leaving the house lately,” he admitted.

“No problem. Come if you can. We can pick you up, if you feel like going,” she said gently. Something in her had settled during their talk. Kurt couldn’t quite describe it. She was still grieving, to be sure. But now there was something else. Something that helped her keep moving.

“I’ll really try,” Kurt promised.

She’d seemed less than comfortable about leaving him alone, but Kurt assured her that he was just going to take a nap, so she left him. Kurt went into his bedroom, where he did not nap. He just stared at the ceiling, imagining the pictures K’evondra had shown him of Kitt on her phone.

Then he curled over on his side and sobbed. Loudly at first. And for a long time. Eventually he quieted and remained there, not moving until he heard the door opening again. Blaine was on his cell phone with Sam, asking about how soon he’d be back.

Kurt closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply.

*

**BLAINE**

God, what a long day. Blaine let himself fall on the couch in the livingroom and reached for the remote. He zapped through the channels listlessly. Another day wasted. He had hoped Kurt would have still been awake after his shift at the diner so they could talk audition chances, but no. All Kurt did was spend his days reminiscing lately - and now apparently even getting visits from the dead guy’s family. Blaine knew he had wished for Kurt to find someone to talk to besides him, but the woman had clearly made Kurt even worse instead of better.

Rachel came in after half an hour into a homeshopping show about hairpieces (not that Blaine needed any of course, but it was kind of fascinating anyway). As soon as he saw her, looking all blissed out on her Broadway success trip, Blaine felt his anger and frustration about his day rise again. He waited until she saw him on the couch, then made a show of looking at his watch.

“What ensemble rehearses past midnight, Rachel?” he asked, his tone making it clear he was in no mood for excuses. “I could have really used your help tonight.”

Rachel shrugged, still beaming. Was she actually a little flushed? “We had celebratory drinks afterwards. First runthrough without anyone slipping up. Well, of course I mean the rest of the cast, I already had my first perfect runthrough weeks ago.” She glanced at the part of the loft partitioned off by Kurt’s privacy curtain.

“He’s asleep,” Blaine said. “And I think it’s very selfish of you to stay out this long, Rachel. You know how hard it is here with Kurt.”

“Yeah,” Rachel replied, lowering her voice. “It’s kind of depressing. It’s really killing my vibe. As much as I dearly,  _dearly_  love Kurt, I can’t use that kind of distraction right now. When you’re a star, you have to focus every  _iota_  of your being onto the character… This isn’t very Fanny.”

“Oh, my fiancé is a distraction to you?” Blaine repeated sarcastically. “Is the fact that he almost  _died_  a bit of a buzzkill for you? I’m so sorry.”

Rachel frowned. “I didn’t mean that. I just don’t have time to help out right now. Kurt would understand. Broadway above all things.” She held her hands up to the sky in a kind of ‘praise’ gesture.

“Oh, and just because I don’t have a big part in some Broadway show, I have all the time in the world?” Blaine replied.

“He’s  _your_  fiancé,” Rachel said.

“And he’s your ‘best gay’, or at least he was back when you needed a makeover and an ego-boost to audition for  _Funny Girl_ ,” Blaine reminded her. “I really think you owe it to him to take one evening out of your busy schedule to sit with him. I’ve been with him 24/7 since the attack, do you have any idea how exhausting that is?”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I have to take care of myself first. This is my dream, Blaine. I can’t afford to be doing anything that would take energy away from my Fanny. The people… they’ll  _know_. I  _owe_ them the best Fanny they’ve ever seen!”

Blaine scoffed. What a diva.

A shuffling sound behind them caused both heads to turn. Kurt walked out from behind the curtain, not even looking toward them, and headed for the kitchen. He fetched a mug with one hand and grabbed the tea kettle.

“D-did we wake you?” Blaine asked. It was uncomfortable with Kurt not saying anything like that.

“No.” Kurt set the kettle on the stove and leaned on the counter as though he needed it to hold him up.

“How was your visit with… um…”

“K’evondra.” Kurt looked at Rachel. “The big sister of the guy who died came over today.” He licked his lips and said in a tone that attempted, but utterly failed, to be bright. “What’s new in the wild world of showbiz, hm?”

“Oh, I, well, probably nothing that interesting to the civilian populace,” Rachel glossed.

Kurt turned his glance away from her and just stared at the kettle. The silence grew. Eventually, Rachel started babbling about the incompetence and pretension of her new understudy, who really needed to learn her place, and how everyone in the show either worshiped or was jealous of her.

Blaine rolled his eyes and tried to block it out. Like he cared about her drama off the stage. Kurt didn’t seem to care, either, but he nodded here and there as he made his tea. Blaine stared at his back, trying to figure out if he had heard their conversation or not. It would be a lot easier if Kurt would just say something.

Then Kurt disappeared back into his bedroom.

Rachel sighed. “I’m going to take a long shower and get some beauty sleep.” She rose and stretched. “What a day!”

*

**KURT**

Kurt curled up on his bed with his mug of hot tea in his hand. Not only was he useless, his best friend and fiancé were tired of being around him. He’d had such clear intentions, leaving the hospital. He was going to be  _Kurt Hummel_  again. Now he was just this sad, crawling creature that moved back and forth through the space of their apartment, crying and making tea, and didn’t do much else.

He heard the shower going, and wondered if there would be hot water afterward. He felt like sitting under the water, letting it pummel him on the hardest setting.

“Hey.” Blaine voice drifted softly past the curtain.

“Hey.” Kurt rested his chin on his knees and rubbed his thumb along the edge of the mug.

Blaine came over to the bed. As he moved to sit next to Kurt, Kurt involuntarily scooted away, causing Blaine to frown.

“Are you mad at me?” Blaine said a little aggressively.

“I’m not anything. I’m tea.” Kurt sipped it slowly.

Blaine frowned, then blinked. “You’re…  _drinking_  tea? Or…” He shook his head. For a moment, he looked like he might keep asking, but then sighed and shook his head as though Kurt was beyond understanding. “Okay. Whatever.”

“Do you remember when Rachel was sitting Shiva for her career because she blew her audition?” Kurt asked.

Blaine chuckled.

“And we sang her sad songs with her, when she wanted, and set up the anti-prom because she felt bad about herself, and let her take the lead at Nationals so she could try again.”

“I liked some of those songs. Especially… you know, the duet part, in ‘Big Girls Don’t Cry’?” Blaine smiled warmly and slipped his fingers, ever-so-gently, around Kurt’s injured ones. “We’ll be playmates and lovers, and share our, secret worlds,” he sang softly.

“I liked that part, too. I wish I could sing it with you,” Kurt muttered. “But… You know… I know that I’m not a barrel of fun to be around right now. I know that. I’m not helpless, and I’m not stupid. But Rachel whined about her problems a  _lot_  longer than I’ve been whining about this. And then, nobody  _died_.”

“I know. I can’t believe how selfish she’s being.” Blaine huffed. “But… y’know, Kurt, maybe you should think about…” He bobbed his head from side to side. “Maybe not talking about it all the time.”

Kurt almost dropped his tea. He licked his lips and looked at Blaine seriously. “What?”

“I don’t mean, like… Well, it isn’t helping you, is it? To just obsess over it all the time. Maybe just… try not to  _talk_  about it so much.”

Kurt started to feel cold.

“Then, Rachel will be around more. And you’ll be able to think about other things, right? Like getting back to work, and school. I know Isabelle would probably love to see you and talk about the new fashions. It would be  _good_  for you,” Blaine encouraged.

Kurt wasn’t so sure that ‘good’ was the word he’d use. “Is that how you got through it? By… by pretending it didn’t happen?”

“I’m not saying, like, pretend it didn’t happen. But it doesn’t have to be the topic of  _every_ conversation, does it?”

Kurt looked down. His stomach was starting to hurt, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since morning. “I guess it doesn’t. But… It’s on my mind all the time. It feels disrespectful to Kitt to just put it away, you know?”

“Kitt?”

“The guy who  _died_.”

Blaine pressed his lips together. “Would he really want you to be so unhappy?”

Kurt thought about that. Would Kitt want to be remembered? Probably. Would Kitt want him to heal, to have a good life? From the way K’evondra talked, it sounded like Kitt would probably take Kurt under his wing and try to adopt him.

“I guess not. I’m not  _trying_  to be unhappy, Blaine.”

“I know. Just… Let me know if there’s anything I can do?”

Kurt sipped his tea. “There is one thing.”

Blaine raised his brows and looked a little anxious.

“Could you make sure Rachel doesn’t use all the hot water?”

A wicked look crossed Blaine’s face. “ _That_  I can do!”

Kurt smiled slightly and accepted a light kiss. Blaine looked at him for a moment before rising to go pound on the bathroom door. Moments later, Kurt heard a very divaesque shriek.

So it was time for him to be better, whether he was ready or not. Kurt didn’t know how to _make_  himself better, though. Good thing he was an actor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: assault, homophobic slurs, violence, dub-con, depression
> 
> A/N : We started this fic after discussions about the spoilers for ‘Bash’ and our suspicions that Glee would handle the plot badly and leave no on-screen time for Kurt to come to terms with the attack. This fic is not for Blaine/Klaine fans.

**KURT**  
  
The next morning, Kurt rose with good resolutions. He had planned his strategy in the night, from the calls he would make to get himself scheduled in for a shift at the diner to a meeting with Isabelle to catch up and what he would say if someone asked what happened to him, down to the clothes he was going to wear. Once he was in his personal armour again, he’d be ready to face  _being ready_.

Blaine had gotten up before him, mumbling something about getting breakfast from the deli since they had run out of cereals. (Kurt wasn’t sure if this was a dig at him not going grocery shopping, but he let it slide. Things were going to change anyway, starting today. He’d celebrate by trying to cook dinner in the evening. Sam was coming home and Blaine and Rachel were supposed to be there too. A good opportunity to show them all that he was okay and ready to resume life.)  
  
He had just finished his morning skincare when there was a knock on the door. Figuring it was Blaine come back from the store, he simply called out: “I’m decent!” and dabbed his face dry. When he came in to the living room a little while later, dressed in a bathrobe and with a towel draped over his shoulders, he saw that the door to the loft was still ajar.

Adam was standing in the opening, his beanie and a basket of fruit in his hands.

"Good morning. Can I come in?" he asked hesitantly.

Kurt nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. He hadn’t seen Adam since their break-up. He self-consciously pulled his robe a little tighter around him.

"I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me," Adam said, "but I heard what happened, and—" he broke off and looked down at his hands, seemingly surprised to find there was something in them. "I, uh- brought you something."  He held up the basket. "Apples… from the Adam’s Apples." He smiled a little sheepishly and held it out to Kurt.

"Thanks," Kurt said. He walked up to Adam and took the basket, holding it in front of his chest. He wasn’t sure what else to say. Adam was about the last person he had expected to see, after the way they had broken up.

"I’m sorry, I know you don’t actually have the flu or something but I felt awkward bringing flowers," Adam explained, misinterpreting Kurt’s silence. He wrung his beanie in his hands until he realised what he was doing and pocketed it instead. He shoved his hands in his back pockets.

"No, I like apples," Kurt replied, looking down on them. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

"Kurt, I’m so sorry for what happened," Adam finally said, his voice soft and sincere. "You must have been terrified."

Kurt bit his lip. This was the point where he was supposed to say he was okay, and change the subject. But he couldn’t. Not with Adam. And besides, he’d asked, hadn’t he? “I wasn’t really thinking at all. I just knew I couldn’t just walk by and let them kill Kitt,” he replied honestly. There. A good answer, and delivered without crying.

"Did you know him well?" Adam asked.

Kurt’s resolve to stay strong melted.

He grimaced, his lips tightening in a smile that wasn’t really a smile at all, and he shook his head. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, and then nodded at their sitting room area. Adam understood and crossed the distance to the couch, leaving the door ajar so Kurt could close it behind him, giving him the opportunity to turn his back for a moment and gather himself. Kurt took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then turned back to face Adam.

"I didn’t even know his name until his sister came here to thank me," he said thickly. Kurt sat down on the other side of the couch. “She told me about Kitt, about what kind of person he was. Kind. Loving. A good friend. I would have- I would have liked to have been friends with him.” A tear escaped down Kurt’s face. He wiped it away quickly. The day had barely started and here he was, crying again! Adam shifted forward a little, then seemed to change his mind. His hand, which had been going towards Kurt’s shoulder, landed on the back rest of the couch instead. Kurt felt a pang of guilt for feeling disappointed.

“There’ll be a memorial service soon. I’m invited to come, but-” Kurt sighed frustratedly. “I am going,” he corrected himself.

Adam looked at him for a moment. “Would you like me to go with you?” he offered. “No strings attached, just as a friend.”

Kurt thought about it. He was pretty sure Blaine wouldn’t feel like joining him, and Rachel wouldn’t have the time. And even though he knew K’evondra would try her best to make him comfortable, she’d probably have obligations to the rest of their family and friends and wouldn’t have time to babysit him. “I’d like that,” he said.

Adam nodded. “Then I will,” he promised.

There was another pause between them, but it wasn’t as awkward as the first. Then Adam spoke again.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I went to Madame Tibideaux on your behalf. I hope that was okay. She agreed to defer your summer finals, and she told me to tell you not to worry about your spot at NYADA when the new semester starts. It will be there when you’re ready to come back."

Kurt felt his throat close up again. He had been a little worried about missing as many classes as he had, but he hadn’t even thought of his upcoming exams yet, or the possibility that someone else might take his spot. He looked at Adam. “I don’t deserve your friendship,” he said quietly.

Adam scoffed and shook his head. “Oh, I’ve been a _fantastic_  friend,” he said, “especially when I kicked you out of the Apples and avoided you afterwards. That was incredibly _friendly_  of me.”

"I understand why you did," Kurt replied, reaching out with his uninjured hand to take Adam’s.

"That doesn’t make it okay," Adam said. The fingers of his hand closed around Kurt’s. He brushed his thumb lightly over Kurt’s knuckles. "I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew from the start that you were still in love with someone else, Kurt. I shouldn’t have blamed you for choosing him. There was always the risk of that happening."

Kurt breathed in sharply, gathering himself to protest when the door of the loft opened again.

"What’s going on? Who are  _you_?” Blaine asked. He looked from Adam down to where he was still holding Kurt’s hand.

Adam quickly let go and got up. “I’m Adam,” he said, holding out his hand. “You must be Blaine. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

To anyone who didn’t know him, Adam sounded sincere and polite. Kurt tried not to cringe at the small hints that gave away how he really felt.

Blaine ignored his hand and stepped up to Kurt. “What’s he doing here?” he asked.

"I was just stopping by to bring Kurt some apples," Adam said, nodding at the basket on the table.

"He also talked to Madame Tibideaux for me," Kurt added. "She said I can take my finals later."

Blaine glanced at Adam before looking back at Kurt again. “I thought we talked about you getting back to school soon?”

"Yeah, but now I have a bit more time to get better-"

"You’ll feel a lot better when you have something to take your mind off things." Blaine turned to Adam. "We’re really grateful for your help, Adam," he said sweetly, "but Kurt needs his rest now."

"Right," Adam agreed, glancing at Kurt. "Um. I’ll see you at NYADA then, Kurt."

"Yes. And thanks again, Adam," Kurt replied. He felt bad for Blaine’s obvious dismissal of his ex-boyfriend, but he understood. Adam was his ex, after all, and Blaine had walked in on them holding hands. He would just have to make up for it to Adam once he was back at school.

“Sure. No problem.” Adam gave Kurt one last look and left, pulling the loft door closed behind him.

*

**BLAINE**

Another customer made a snapping motion at him, and Blaine huffed. When he’d come to the diner, he’d anticipated a venue for him to be able to work on his songs, but people mostly expected him to wait on them all the time. Not to mention, customers were _terrible._  He’d imagined that the finger snapping was the worst thing someone could do. Kurt didn’t seem to care. Blaine had even overheard Kurt directing a table to snap or whistle for him if they needed something. Blaine had complained to Kurt that this only made them think it was okay to do to other people, and Kurt simply just breezed that it got loud in the diner and he needed people to catch his attention more directly.

  
But then there were the people who sent food back because it wasn’t  _perfect_ , and the people who yelled at him for not coming by often enough, and the people who didn’t tip, and that weird lady who had mistaken him for Hispanic and tried to talk to him in broken Spanish about her egg temperature obsession. (Sometimes Kurt and June, as the whitest looking people on staff, swapped tables so folks didn’t have to deal with the woman, even though she tipped badly on the best of days.)

Working sucked. But it was better than sitting around the house all day feeling alternatively bored and uber guilty.

“He just doesn’t understand, you know? I need my space to work on my craft,” Blaine explained to a girl with huge chunks of turquoise dyed into her hair.

“Rough stuff, bro. But, y’know, for me? I like the girls up there, too. All the muff you can handle. There are some clubs around here where you could perform, but you’d have to wear a dress, if you know what I mean.” She smirked and tapped her menu on the table. “Make those fries like Kraft, okay? The cheesiest. I don’t want my friend stealing them when he gets here. And no bacon?”

“Yeah, um. Okay.” Blaine simply wrote down “cheese fries” under her table number and “root beer.”

“Hey, do you know if Rachel and Santana are working sometime today? I’d like to check in with a friend. Haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“Oh. I don’t think so. Santana’s out of town, and Rachel stopped working. She’s in a Broadway show now.”

“Everyone on the friggin’ planet knows she’s in a Broadway show,” she said with a good-natured laugh. “No problem. I’ll give ‘em a call. Or you can tell them Dani was asking around?”

Blaine paused at that. Kurt had gotten some phone calls around the time he was in the hospital, first from that opportunistic Elliott and then from someone apparently named _Dan Dan_. Kurt had been kind of blasted on painkillers when his phone had rung, so Blaine had answered the first time, telling Elliott to cool it, and then the next time, he had blocked the number. With Dan Dan, he’d blocked it before talking to the guy. Blaine wasn’t about to let a bunch of guys take advantage of Kurt while he was so vulnerable.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll tell them.”

Dani sat back and cheered as two of the waitresses got up with the band to sing the Dixie Chick’s “Goodbye Earl.” In Blaine’s opinion, if someone was going to sing Country around here, it ought to be Sam. With a sigh, he put in the order at the kitchen and went around quickly to check on his tables, then headed to the back to check his phone messages.

_“-that Earl had to die! GOOODBYE, EARL!”_ the girls crooned.

Blaine looked up in alarm. Why did people have to be so crass? He heard the bell at the window and picked up the fries and Dani’s rootbeer.

_“It turns out he was a missing person who nobody missed at all!”_

“This song is a little scary,” Blaine said as he put the drink and heavy plate down in front of Dani. He pulled a straw out of his apron.

“Yeah, it cracks me up.” Dani danced back and forth in the booth.

“I’m glad Kurt isn’t around today,” Blaine mused. Kurt had a hard enough time dealing on a daily basis, let alone at work, having to listen to songs about murder. There were moments, brief ones, where Blaine still felt like he should hand Kurt over to someone else. It was like Kurt was never going to be the same, and maybe someone who really understood, either violence or broken minds, should really be the one who Kurt trusted himself with.

Dani tapped the end of her straw on the table. “How’s that? He usually enjoys when the girls sing, so long as they aren’t fighting.”

“Oh, um…” Blaine hesitated. “You know Kurt?”

So apparently Dan Dan  _wasn’t_ a guy.

Then, in a jumble, he explained in brief what had happened that night. Dani’s good-natured smile crumbled and her eyes grew wide and she clapped her hands over her mouth with a breathless, “Oh my  _God_!”

Blaine stood there uncomfortably as the two waitresses continued to cheerfully sing behind them. He was afraid she was going to cry, and he’d had more than enough of _that_ for maybe a lifetime. She didn’t, though. She dabbed her running mascara and took a sip of her root beer to calm down, and told him how sorry she was, and if she could do anything…?

He thought about asking if she could take Kurt for a couple of days, but that would be rude, and anyway, he was apparently going to cook tonight for the first time in forever. Not that Blaine knew how he was going to do that one-handed, but if Kurt said he could, Blaine believed him. Kurt had  _ways._  He’d taught himself to twirl swords.

“No, no. We’re fine. It’s been a rough patch, but he’s doing a little better now.”

“Well, you let him know he can call me  _any time_ , if he needs to talk. No hard feelings about the band, not at all. I tried to call because he missed band practice, and I was worried, but my number’s not getting through.”

“I-I’ll bring it up. His phone’s been um, acting weird lately.”

“That sucks. Just when he could use the people he’s done so much for, huh?” Dani pushed her thick, luridly colored hair back and leaned forward on the booth. “And if you need anything, too. God, I can’t believe this would happened to someone as sweet as Kurt. Sometimes I just feel like there should be this circle of protection around him, y’know? Like material karma, giving back all he’s done for his friends.”

She shook her head and moved her fingers to pick up a fry. They froze, and then she moved her hand back. “Sorry, I’ll let you go. You have other tables. Thanks for telling me what’s up.”

“No problem.”

Blaine walked back towards the kitchen, then he heard Dani exclaim, “Ell! Oh, my God, did you hear about Kurt?”

“No, I- Don’t be upset, girl. C’mon, let’s sit, okay?” a calm masculine voice said gently.

Blaine didn’t want to know, really, but he turned, just so, and sure enough, Elliott was there, in all his Franken-rocker glory, being hugged by the tiny Dani. The guy was hugely tall. Blaine felt like a woodland creature around him.

Elliott turned, spotted him, and waved. Blaine waved back, and Elliott tilted his head to the side and motioned for Blaine to come over there. With a frown, Blaine came, a little hesitantly.

“Hey, man,” Elliott said in an easy, almost friendly tone. “Could you get them to do some new fries for Dani? She’s veggie. She can’t eat these.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Ell,” Dani said.

“You’re payin’ for ‘em, Dan Dan Noodles.” Elliott petted the top of her head, then looked back at Blaine and pushed the plate toward him. “And could you get me a diet cherry Coke? Or whatever they’ve got, with a lime on the rim? I know you guys run out.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry. I guess they got yours mixed up with someone else’s.” Blaine took the plate and headed back to the kitchen feeling his face go red. Elliott always made him feel… small. And not just because he was a giant. Because nothing really seemed to bother the guy. He was unflappable. He could not be flapped.

“Jim, we need these cheese fries with no bacon,” Blaine told the cook peevishly.

“I don’t know why these assholes don’t read the goddamn menu and order right the first time,” Jim grumbled, taking the old plate. “Waste.”

“Yeah, I know.” Blaine came around to get the soda himself. He looked back out at Elliott— aka the friend apparently avoiding extra cheese, and his pleasant, rounded cheeks— and pushed the large frosted glass under the regular cherry Coke.

When Blaine returned to the table once more, Elliott’s easy grin was gone and Dani was curled next to him on his side of the booth.

“Here we go. Bacon free fries and a diet cherry Coke,” Blaine said as he set the food down.

“What the  _fuck_ , man?” Elliott boomed.

Blaine stepped back a little, surprised that anger could actually come from Elliott. “What?” he snapped in return.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me Kurt was hurt so bad when I called? I assumed when you told me Kurt was busy and I shouldn’t call, you would actually tell me if he was busy by being  _unconscious_!”

“Well, you know,  _Elliott_ , it’s not really any of your business,” Blaine said angrily.

“The fuck it isn’t! Kurt’s my friend, even if you hate the idea of him having one. I care if he’s had his head bashed in or… or…”

“It’s not even that bad,” Blaine huffed. “He has a lot of bruises and some broken bones on his right hand, but he was never in critical condition or anything.”

“You said he was in the hospital for a few  _days_ ,” Dani said.

“Yeah, but… that was because they wanted to monitor him, and make sure he got enough oxygen.”

“Why wouldn’t he have enough oxygen,” Dani asked quietly.

“Well… He did get a little choked.”

Elliott rubbed his temple. “Can you manage to put your fragile ego aside and just be human for a minute? Kurt matters a lot to us, too. We just wanna know that he’s okay.”

“He is. Or he will be. He’s still healing, and he’s starting to cope with-” Blaine shook his head. “Well, you know, the guy he tried to save died. So.”

Dani covered her mouth again. Elliott shook his head.

“Crazy,” he muttered.

“Yeah, I don’t know why he had to go running in there,” Blaine said quietly. “I could’ve lost him, and he just… I don’t know if he thinks about that before he does these things.”

“He has to,” Dani said. “He has to because he knows hardly anyone would do it for  _him_.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Blaine sighed heavily.

Elliott and Dani continued talking for a few minutes in grave tones before Blaine found a reason to excuse himself. Off and on, he felt their eyes following him, and he avoided their section just a little. He knew they wanted him to offer to give Kurt a message, and he wasn’t sure why they hadn’t asked. Maybe they’d figured out why their numbers had been blocked… Though, Blaine wondered why Kurt and Elliott called her Dan Dan Noodles.

It wasn’t his fault for assuming it was a guy’s name. Kurt should’ve been clearer in naming his contacts.

*

**KURT**

Kurt was almost grateful when neither Rachel or Blaine insisted that he join them to the airport to pick up Sam. He told them he had his cooking to tend to, and they didn’t argue with him. Kurt knew they were probably glad to get out of the loft for a while without him. He hoped this dinner would change that. And once he had tackled this, he could take the next step: going outside. It hadn’t been easy convincing Blaine to drive thirty minutes down to the market near NYADA where he usually got his vegetables- they were pricey but worth it, and the stuff from the shops down the street just wouldn’t do for a celebratory dinner. Kurt felt that a lot was riding on this. It all had to be perfect.

When everything was in the oven, Kurt tidied up. As he folded away one of Blaine’s vests, he suddenly remembered his words to Blaine right before the attack. He had complained about always having to pick up after him; nothing had changed. Blaine may have tried, for a day or two, but in the end he was simply too used to someone else doing that stuff for him. Kurt sighed. It didn’t matter. He knew that if he brought that up now, Blaine would only remind him of all the other things he had done for Kurt in the past days. It was like they were always keeping a tally against each other. Kurt knew he couldn’t win, with everything that had happened. Rachel, however, could fold her own damn clothes. She had done nothing but disappear on him. He picked up a shawl, a pair of shoes and a sweater and unceremoniously dumped them on her bed.

The door to the loft opened, and Kurt’s three roommates spilled in. Kurt straightened his back, rolled back his shoulders and smiled. “Sam!”

“Hey Kurt,” Sam replied happily, putting down a large suitcase and draping several clothing bags over it.

Kurt  _felt_  the exact moment where Sam took in his appearance. He had hoped the cobalt blue sweater would distract from the bruises on his face, but he saw Sam’s smile dim and knew it hadn’t worked. Blaine and Rachel would probably have prepared him on the way to the loft; he could see pity slowly replace the initial shock in Sam’s green eyes. He took a deep breath and smiled even broader to compensate. “It’s so good to see you, Sam. You simply  _have_  to tell me everything. What you did, what the other models were like…” He walked up to his friend, needing badly to show him he was able to walk, talk and smile and thus, was okay. He stopped in front of him. “Do I get a hug?”

“Uh…yeah. Of course,” Sam replied, a little surprised. Kurt didn’t usually volunteer physical contact of any kind (a lingering result of all the awkward looks he got in high school if he so much as brushed shoulders with other boys, all afraid of ‘catching the gay’) but he knew Sam was okay with his sexuality and wouldn’t push him away. And wasn’t that what friends did after one had been away for a long time: hug?

  
Sam held out his arms and Kurt leaned forward a little, wrapping his arm with his uninjured hand lightly around Sam’s waist. Sam put his arms around his shoulders carefully. “You’re a hero, dude,” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

Kurt closed his eyes tightly for a moment, his smile wavering. As he opened them again and pulled back from the hug, he nodded curtly, not wanting to spoil the moment with an unsteady voice.

Sam looked at him for a moment, and then grinned enthusiastically. “Hey, I brought you something!”  He reached down for the clothing bags. “We got to keep lots of stuff from the shoot since it was all made to fit us. The other guys were gonna sell theirs on ebay, but I thought…maybe you’d want it.” He held out the bags.

Kurt’s eyes grew large and he gasped. He heard Rachel next to him do the same. He brushed his fingers over the plastic wrappings. “Sam, that’s so sweet…but if you can sell them, you should. I know you need the money.”

Sam shrugged. “Nah. Now that my dad got work again I can actually keep my whole paycheck. I’m good. I brought them for  _you_. Consider them payback for all the clothes you gave me back when my family lived in the motel.”

Kurt bit his lip and smiled, genuinely this time. “Thank you,” he said. From the corners of his eyes, he could see Rachel start to peel at the zipper and he pulled the bags close to his chest. “They wouldn’t fit you, anyway,” he hissed, already feeling possessive.

Blaine was standing next to Sam, beaming and looking at Sam expectantly. “Do you need help unpacking?” he offered.

Sam shook his head. “Nah. Nothing but dirty laundry in there anyway. Hey, something smells really good here.”

Kurt smiled. “It’s cajun chicken.”

Now was Sam’s turn to go wide-eyed. “Like Carole used to make?” he asked eagerly.

“I gave her the recipe, you know,” Kurt replied smugly.

“Oh man, I love you. I had nothing but salads for two weeks!”

Rachel squeaked happily. “Everyone’s home and happy again!” she said, sounding like she was doing a voice-over in her own imaginary show.

*

While the others set the table, Kurt brought his gift back to his part of the loft. He reverently laid out the bags on his bed and opened one. Inside was a double-breasted jacket, a dress shirt and a matching scarf. He grinned. It was so unlike Sam’s usual plaid! He must have looked amazing in it. Kurt ran his fingers over the shoulder seams of the jacket and then felt the inside lining. He could probably take it in a little at the back. He checked his watch. Dinner would be ready in five minutes. He’d just have time to try it on.

He shrugged it on and reached for the double row of buttons, holding his splinted fingers out of the way to try and close it with his palm and his left hand. It went better than expected and he got enough buttons closed to look at the effect in the mirror. He smiled at himself, for the first time since the hospital not even seeing the palette of colours on his face.

“Kurt, your cooking alarm has gone off!” Blaine called from the kitchen.

“I’ll be right out!” Kurt yelled back, and reached for the buttons to get out of the jacket again. He tugged. It wouldn’t work: the fabric was stiff and the buttonholes were new and tight. His hand started shaking.  _Come on_ , he muttered under his breath.

“Should we do something?” Sam called out.

“No, I’ll get it!” Kurt replied, glaring at himself in the mirror and trying the buttons once more. He did not want to call Blaine in to help him. He had gotten dressed on his own that morning, and I didn’t want to undo that achievement now.  _Great. Caught in a designer jacket._

“Kurt, I really think you should—” Blaine called again.

“I’M COMING, OKAY?!” Kurt shouted angrily, letting go of the buttons and tearing the curtain open. He stalked towards the kitchen still wearing the jacket, grabbed an oven glove and yanked the oven open. If he got stains on the jacket he was going to kill someone. He lifted the sizzling tray out with his good hand and put it up on the counter. Throwing the oven mitt aside, he walked to the window, plucked some thyme from the small array of potted herbs he kept on the window sill, and crumbled it over the poultry. He then became aware that no one was speaking, and everyone was staring at him. He looked at his roommates.

“What?” he asked defensively.

Sam was chewing the corners of his mouth, making his lips look pouty. Had Santana been there, she surely would have made at least three offensive jokes before he plucked up the courage to say something. “Do you need help?”

Kurt took a deep breath and let it out. Maybe asking them to do one little thing didn’t diminish the fact that he had prepared the whole dinner. He didn’t look at Blaine or Rachel when he answered.

“Thanks. Could you put this on the table? I need to take this jacket off.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but walked to his bed, closed the curtain behind him, and took a large pair of sewing scissors from his drawer. He’d sew the buttons back on after he had adjusted the fit.

*

None of them mentioned Kurt’s little outburst during dinner, and Kurt slowly relaxed again. The vegetables were steamed to perfection, the chicken was delicious, tender and spicy just as it should be, and Rachel seemed to enjoy the seasonings of her tofu as well (though she was eyeing the chicken a little enviously). Sam was telling them all about his first real job as a model. The shoot for the editorial had taken him to San Francisco, all expenses paid. He had lived in a hotel room with several other male models (one of them gay, he added, but it wasn’t awkward or anything) and they had even had a few hours off to go sightseeing. Everyone at the table was listening raptly, especially Blaine, who somehow asked a lot of questions about the other models. While Kurt was glad Sam had had such a good time, he found his attention drifting a little at the parts that weren’t about the actual photoshoot. He studied his friends, one by one. All of them had gone through difficult periods in their life. Blaine had been bashed, Rachel lost her fiancé, and Sam had dropped out of school to support his family as a stripper. You wouldn’t know it, if you saw them like this. They looked so happy. Kurt hoped he could be like that too one day. Until then, he’d just have to fake it.

The three of them laughed and Kurt quickly smiled as well. He had missed the joke, but assumed Sam had just done an impression of someone, so he directed his attention to him again. He caught up, Sam now telling them about the shoot on the iconic bridge.

“So there we were, all of us wearing these crazy wigs and hairpieces, and it was so windy, one of the guys’ wigs got blown right off! Nearly hit me in the face, but I ducked, so it went straight off the bridge and into the water. And everyone was angry at  _me_ because I didn’t catch it, and the photographer said-”

Kurt smiled softly as he tried to imagine the scene Sam had just described, but as soon as he thought about hairpieces, he saw his own hands, bloodied and scraped, adjusting Kitt’s matted, midnight blue wig. He blinked a few times, willing the image away.

“Kurt?” Blaine asked.

“I’m  _fine_ ,” Kurt snapped, but as soon as he saw the confused looks on their faces, he knew it wasn’t the fitting answer.

“No one said you weren’t, dude,” Sam said gently. “It’s just that your laptop is, uh… ringing?”

Suddenly, Kurt heard it too. His Skype ringtone was going off. He smoothed out the napkin he had been wringing in his good hand and looked at his friends. “It’s my dad. Would you mind if I get that?”

“Of course not,” Sam replied. “Say hi to Burt for me and tell him to give Carole my love. I wanted to send them a postcard, but I forgot to write down their address.”

Kurt nodded and left the table to pick up his laptop. He sat down on the couch and put the laptop on his knees. Showtime.

“Hi dad!!!” he said enthusiastically.

“Hey buddy, how’s it going?”

Kurt could only see his father’s eyebrows and his NYADA cap, but he had already told him how to hold his tablet so the camera actually pointed at his face so many times that he didn’t try to explain it again. It was easier not looking into his eyes anyway. “I’m fine!” he said. “Sam came home today, we were just having dinner. Everyone says hi!” He lifted the laptop up and held it over his head so the screen pointed at the table. The others all waved and shouted greetings.

“That’s nice. Your voice sounds good. How’s your hand? Are your fingers getting better?”

Kurt looked down at the splints. “It doesn’t hurt,” he said, dodging the question a little. “How’s Carole?”

“Oh, uh, she’s great. Meeting some of the women from the support group tonight.” Burt rummaged a bit by the microphone, and Kurt heard a fizzing noise.

Kurt nodded. “That’s good. What about you? Is that-  _dad_ , that had better be a Bud _Light_ I hear. You know too much beer isn’t good for you.”

“Jeez, Kurt, I’m having a guys’ night on my own, give me a break, okay?”

“Promise me it’s just the one.”

Burt sighed. “Yeah yeah. You know sometimes I think you forget who’s the kid here. I called to hear how  _you_  were doing.”

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m gonna go back to work after the weekend, and try to catch up with my classes.”

“Really? That’s… that’s great. That’s really good, Kurt.”

Kurt nodded and smiled. “Do you mind if I get back to my friends now? We were almost done with the chicken and I was gonna make some crêpes to go with the ice cream.”

Burt groaned. “I miss you, kiddo.”

Kurt smirked. “You miss my food. I love you too, dad.” He disconnected and closed his laptop.

“So, who wants crêpes?” he said, his chipper attitude from the call carrying over to his mood a little. Maybe that Charlie Chaplin song was right- smiling helped, even if you were sad.

*

**BLAINE**

While Kurt started his crêpes, Blaine opened another bottle of wine and refilled everyone’s glass almost to the brim. He picked up Kurt’s glass and carried it to the kitchen.

"Here," he said, offering Kurt his wine.

"Thanks," Kurt said, not stopping his juggling act with the pan in his left hand, "but I can’t. I want to take Ambien later." He slid the half-baked crêpe on a plate, put the pan down and turned the plate upside down over the pan, causing the crêpe to fall back in on its unbaked side. It would have been a lot easier just to flip it in the air with a flick of the pan, but the doughy battlefield around the stove showed that Kurt couldn’t do that with his left hand.

Blaine sighed. Ambien meant Kurt would go straight to sleep. He stepped closer to Kurt and wrapped an arm around him from behind. “I can think of a way I can exhaust you without sleeping pills,” he tried, whispering into Kurt’s ear seductively.

Kurt stopped fussing over the pan for a moment. “I…I think I’d rather just go to sleep tonight, Blaine,” he brought out.

"But we’re celebrating," Blaine said. "It would be the perfect end to a perfect dinner…"

"The crêpes are getting cold," Kurt whispered.

Blaine rolled his eyes and let go of him, stepping away. He didn’t understand why Kurt kept finding excuses to avoid being intimate with him. All he wanted was to make Kurt feel good! He didn’t know what else he could do. He gave Kurt compliments, he made sure Kurt knew he was still attracted to him despite of the bruises…why wasn’t it enough?

Just as he expected, Kurt excused himself shortly after dinner. Rachel quickly said she had to get her beauty sleep as well (which was clearly to avoid helping with the dishes, Blaine thought resentfully. Well, he’d leave them for tomorrow).

He walked up to the couch and sat down next to his best friend.

"That dinner was  _so_  worth all the time I’ll need at the gym tomorrow,” Sam sighed happily, patting his perfectly flat stomach. “There’s something about Kurt’s cooking that always makes me feel welcome.”

"Well, we’ve all missed you," Blaine said. "It hasn’t been easy here."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "I guess Kurt-"

"Can I come with you to the gym tomorrow?" Blaine interrupted, cutting him off.

"Uh, sure," Sam replied, a little surprised. "Do you wanna work out?"

"Yeah, I’m, uh…well to be honest, I kind of let it slide the past week. Kurt needed a lot of help." Before Sam could reply, he quickly added: "And I missed spending time with you, Sam. I haven’t had any guy-talk in weeks. You know, not really."

Sam pulled a frowning face and set his jaw forward. “Friendship is everything,” he rasped. “Friendship is more than talent. It is more than the government. It is almost equal to family.”

"Uncanny," Blaine whispered in awe. He had never seen the Godfather films, but he knew who Sam was supposed to be when he talked like that.

Blaine couldn’t wait to get out of the loft and spend some time with him. He wondered if he still fit into his green work-out shorts. He knew he looked good in them, because when he wore them that time to Sue Sylvester’s class, that other guy totally couldn’t keep his eyes off him and he had walked out of there with his number (after a very satisfying mutual handjob in the shower, which was like masturbation so it didn’t count as cheating).

Blaine took his thoughts of Sam, green shorts and showers to bed with him later, and stared at the back of his sleeping fiancé resentfully until he fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: assault, homophobic slurs, violence, dub-con, depression
> 
> A/N : We started this fic after discussions about the spoilers for ‘Bash’ and our suspicions that Glee would handle the plot badly and leave no on-screen time for Kurt to come to terms with the attack. This fic is not for Blaine/Klaine fans.

**KURT**

Kurt had considered telling Blaine about his escort to the memorial, but he’d gotten so worked up about seeing Adam with Kurt before. He’d even refused to take a bite of the apple pie Kurt had made with his ‘bouquet,” and peeling all those apples hadn’t been particularly easy. He was weeks away from full use of his right hand.

For the sake of the memorial, Kurt took some extra time with his appearance. It would be his first time out since he’d come home, and Kitt deserved better than some sad sap with flat hair wearing sweatpants. He did have a black pair of dress slacks, which were oddly loose now, but it was a good thing. He would be able to handle the button on his own (no cutting his pants off in the middle of New York). As he stood in front of his rack of clothes, Kurt heard Blaine and Sam talking in the kitchen. Blaine seemed a lot… better, since Sam got back. Less annoyed, anyway.

Kurt sighed and picked a midnight blue silk shirt and a black vest with a slight shimmering pattern on the front. It wasn’t a funeral, but it felt appropriate.

After struggling his way through all the buttons, Kurt took himself to the mirror and began doing his hair. It crossed his mind that he might steal some of Rachel’s make-up to cover his remaining bruises.

“You sure you’re not going out to a club?” Blaine said behind him.

Kurt half-turned to look at Sam and Blaine, who had just come in through the curtain, then looked at himself in the mirror again. Was he being too vain? Would this look like he was trying to draw attention away from Kitt?

Sam chuckled softly. “A  _goth_  club, maybe. Hey, dude, is there anything we can help you with? You sure you wanna go to this thing alone?”

“ _Sam_ , he said he was  _fine_ ,” Blaine said, a tinge of panic in his voice. Like he suddenly might be obligated to come and not enjoy their Day of SheBLAMigans, as they’d been calling it all freakin’ day.

Honestly, the concept of Blaine coming along, with or without Adam present, filled Kurt with anxiety.

“I did, and I am.” Kurt smoothed the lint roller over his outfit, then looked at Sam. “Anyway, K’evondra only knows me. It’s not exactly a party. Plus two. BYOB.”

Sam crooked his lips to the side. “I just wanted to offer. Maybe like, ride with you on the subway, or something.”

Kurt looked away from them and went to find his wallet and keys. “I’m not a little kid.”

“Not what I meant. I mean, if I’d just… Just call if you need anything, okay? We won’t be anyplace we can’t hear the phone.”

Kurt slipped his wallet into his back pocket and bowed his head, sucking in his lower lip. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be-”

“Nah. You weren’t,” Sam said. He walked over to Kurt and patted his shoulder gently.

Kurt swallowed and headed out the door.

*

Anxiety continued to creep up the back of Kurt’s neck until he reached the bottom of the stairs and spotted Adam’s blond head bobbing outside. He opened the door to see Adam sort of dancing in place. Moving closer, he saw his lips moving. Adam was rehearsing a piece in his head.

“Hi,” Kurt peeped softly, hoping not to startle him.

“Oh!” Adam beamed. “Hi. Are you ready?”

“Yeah. I think so. We should go.” Kurt looked up at their window, then stepped forward on the sidewalk. “We go?”

“We go.” Adam stepped up alongside him.

They walked for a few minutes silently. Then, needing the distraction, Kurt asked if Adam was practicing for any particular reason. Adam smiled and started in on the auditions he was going for. Kurt bobbed his head, grateful for the conversation, and that got them to the subway. Kurt couldn’t help but notice the people on the streets. How they moved. Whether they were walking too near them, or for the most part, just charging ahead on their daily business. Oblivious.

As they moved down the stairs to the subway, Adam’s hand raised and settled on Kurt’s back.

“I’m not overdressed, am I?” Kurt asked suddenly. “I don’t want to be disrespectful. I’m not going for a ‘Look at me! Look at me!’ I just… I just wanted to look nice, I-I thought… Kitt…”

“He was like you. You want to dress in a way that he would have appreciated,” Adam surmised. “I think he’d like it. It’s not showy, but you do look very nice. Don’t worry.”

The conversation after that came in sporadic bursts. Kurt was only half tuned into it. He was too aware of all the people around him. He couldn’t keep track of them all, moving around, and past, and occasionally bumping into him, even when they were just standing still on the platform. He bowed his head over and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Adam’s big arm came around him, and Kurt realized that their conversation had completely stopped. He was trying to come up with an excuse. A headache, maybe, or allergies, when Adam whispered in a low, warm tone that carried right to Kurt’s ears, then to some place deep inside of him:

“You’re okay.”

*

Adam stayed right by Kurt’s side in the close-packed subway. Then as they returned to the street, Kurt separated from Adam, looking at him briefly before he hugged his arms across his chest, resting his left hand on his bicep, and tucking the right away. It was oddly chilly, and it had been rainy for days. The way the overcast sky sapped away the light made if feel as though they were stepping into the dusk, just on the edge of nighttime. Dark streets, and dark alleys. Kurt glanced around them as they made their way to the community center where K’evondra had told them folks would be gathering.

The center didn’t have any heat. Once inside, it almost seem colder than it had on the street. But there were people milling around already, setting up chairs and fixing pictures to the walls. Kurt stopped midstep and almost fell as people drifted to the side and his eyes lit upon the display at the front.

That was him. Her.  _Both._ Stefin Allan. Kitten Fantastico. They’d placed two large photos side by side with a row of candles underneath. One photo revealed a young man with close cropped (and dyed red) hair and a huge grin. And the other? Kitten. Same grin, a lot more makeup, and the wig. It was a surprise that he recognized her at all, with the injuries that she-  _he_  had sustained.

Kurt closed his eyes tightly as the image of a large, brutal hand surged toward his neck.

“Do you want my jacket? From England, y’know, it’s colder… there…” Adam trailed off as Kurt opened his eyes and took a shaky breath. “Oh,  _that’s_  not it.”

“N-no, I’m not cold,” Kurt said. His held his arms more stiffly and chided himself on thinking that it would be easy to come here.

“I know,” Adam replied.

Kurt looked at him with a scowl. Adam’s brows rose. Kurt felt a stab of guilt for being so prickly when all Adam was trying to do was take care of him. He felt like he should be capable of taking care himself by now, though.

Then, in a moment, they’d been spotted. K’evondra greeted him with a gentle hug, and led them over to where the family was putting up extra pictures of Stefin/Kitt, taken with friends and family. Kurt bobbed his head along as a wash of introductions came at him, the remaining brothers and sisters, a grandmother, aunts, cousins, a few who might be family, or not.

“This is our pastor, Anne,” K’evondra said, gesturing to a graying dark-skinned woman.

“If you’d like some food… I didn’t ask them, it’s really not the place, but the congregation brought it anyway. They always do. You can’t stop them from trying to take care of our kids,” Anne said warmly.

_Our kids._

Kurt didn’t trust his mouth not to spill out an inappropriate joke (the Hummelian way of dealing with disaster) or his eyes from spilling out tears at the thought of how completely accepted and  _valued_  Stefin had apparently been in his community, including  _the church_. So Kurt just made polite noises, and took a candle when offered.

K’evondra stood, talking to an aunt, petting the littlest girl’s hair. The girl stared at Kurt curiously. He wondered if she was thinking about her brother. Then again, she could just be thinking that his outfit was strange.

“Vera, c’mon. Stop being rude,” K’evondra chided. She swatted the back of the girl’s dress lightly and sent her over with the other children.

Over the next fifteen minutes, the center began to fill with people and warmth. And the people, oh, there were all  _kinds_ of people. Kurt didn’t like to think of himself as a small town hick, but sometimes, New York proved him wrong. There were straight couples, yes, but also gay families, and enough variation in gender that Kurt couldn’t even guess, for some. A few people wore black, and some wore bright colors. The children’s choir had one little boy with purple stockings under his shorts and Mary Jane buckle shoes, and together the kids opened with a cheerful, churchy song about light and love, and something. Kurt wasn’t familiar with it, but the kids were into it, and dancing around, and it was cute.

He was a little afraid that he had stumbled into a church service when Pastor Anne came up, but instead of preaching, she instructed the kids to pass out the candles, and thanked everyone for coming, and waved forward a few people straggling in. Her kind, weathered voice told them that anyone who wanted to come up and share their memories of Stefin (or Kitten Fantastico!, she clarified, resulting in a soft wave of friendly laughter) was perfectly welcome to do so.

“I knew Stefin since that boy was knee-high to a duck,” she said fondly, shaking her head. “He was a  _good child_ , and grew to be a  _good man_ , long before he ought to have had to. Worked to keep outta trouble so he could help his brothers and sisters, worked _period_ , to make sure they could all  _eat_. Even when the family was doing well, he volunteered with the church to make sure those in our community who didn’t have, had enough. I won’t say the Lord takes the best of us just so he can have him another angel, but bless, the Lord is damn lucky right now to have this one!”

Several people started to clap.

“Tonight, I’m sure you’ll hear many sides of this boy that you never thought possible. He touched all walks of life, and he walked in this world without prejudice. We can only hope to emulate the good that he would have given the world, if it were not for the hatred and fear of some very small men.”

Kurt covered his lips and felt himself starting to shake again. Adam’s hand rested on his shoulder and started to knead, gently. Kurt flashed him a tense smile, and Adam tipped his candle over to light Kurt’s. Kurt watched at the flickering for a moment before turning to the person on his left and doing the same.

Kitt’s brothers and sisters came first, telling stories of their childhood. The brothers talked about how their big brother always looked out for them, and didn’t let anyone hassle them at school, and how one time he took them all camping and taught them how to set up a tent and light a fire. Little Vera just said that she missed him, then murmured a nearly inaudible thanks to the “boy who tried to save him.”

Kurt bit his lip as K’evondra came up, her arms around her little brothers and sisters, and she talked about Stefin’s strength after their mother had died, and what his young passion had meant to their family. More family followed, interspersed with what looked like friends from school, and friends from clubs. Eventually Kitt’s best friend Katy appeared. Her wispy blond hair was pulled into pigtails set low on either side of her head, and she wore a nice pair of slacks with a tan jacket with an uncluttered damask pattern, and a pair of circular, red-framed glasses, that she fiddled with as she spoke. She shared about their first time going to college, and what it had meant for them to be able to go. And to go together.

There was laughter, and tears, and more love and support from and for everyone in this room than Kurt could really wrap his mind around. He knew he was shaking again, and tried to still himself, to no avail. He’d go up as well, if he could. He wanted to pay his respects. But it was a  _memorial_. He had no memory but of Kitt’s death, and while it was one that haunted  _him,_ he would never want the people in this room to have to hear that. He didn’t want to make their celebration of Kitt’s life about his inability to cope.

He also thought, briefly, about sharing a song. But he didn’t know what kind of music Kitt had liked, and it would probably be the wrong one, and then he’d be up there, face smudged with dark blue reminders, monopolizing the spotlight from the person he failed to save. Not to mention, Kurt wasn’t entirely sure how long his voice could carry a song. He’d only tried to warm his voice up once, and it had sounded something like Sugar Motta’s best. Not much of a tribute.

Adam’s fingers kneaded the crook of Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt looked to Adam again, preparing to shoot his pity down with one look. But Adam’s eyes were only sad, a little wet. He frowned softly at Kurt, looking concerned, and his lips formed over the words,

“Is this okay? Do you need space?”

Kurt didn’t know what to say, or even mouth, to that. He shook his head dumbly and leaned back into Adam’s firm, strong chest.

“I’ve got you,” Adam assured in the barest whisper.

When Kurt found the words, he reached back with his tired, twitching hand to take Adam’s and whispered, “Thank you.”

*

By the end, there had been so many stories, so many songs, that Kurt couldn’t separate one memorial speech from the other. He was just left with this feeling of warmth and _purpose_. These people didn’t really need him, so much. And that was a relief. But surely, there were people out there who didn’t have this kind of community ready to rally around them in their time of need.

Maybe, if nothing else, sometime he could be that for someone.

The memorial had lasted longer than Kurt had imagined. Several hours. And it was very dark out when they stepped back into the cold. Kurt felt lit up inside, though, and started spilling over, telling Adam things he had been thinking during the memorial, and then, a few things he kept reliving from that night.

Adam nodded and kept encouraging him to continue. Eventually, Kurt bowed his head forward and pressed a hand to his red face.

“I’m sorry. I’m talking way, way too much about this. No one wants to hear about this.”

“I think there was a very large room full of people who needed to talk about the hole Kitt left in their lives. You’re entitled to do the same. How else are you supposed to process it all, if you don’t work through it?”

Kurt felt his heart catch in his throat. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Stop saying that.” Adam reached over and took his hand, warming it in his own massive paw. “You deserve so much more than a basic listening ear.”

They stopped at the crosswalk, and Kurt’s heart surged in his chest. But not from panic. Not at all.

Adam was looking across the street at the lights glittering out in the city. Flush and full of energy from the evening, Kurt leaned in closer. He could see a slight blush on Adam’s cheek. Kurt touched Adam’s chin, slightly turning it, and pressed his soft lips to Adam’s.

When Adam pulled away, Kurt felt a new flame rising over his cheeks and neck.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“You also deserve a lot more than me taking advantage,” Adam said firmly.

“But I was the one-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Adam insisted. He looked back to Kurt, with eyes vulnerable but resolute. “You’re grieving, darling. You’re allowed to grieve, and make mistakes. You’re allowed to want comfort. And you should not have to  _beg_ for it.”

So comfort Adam gave. Without another word of explanation, Adam held him close, enveloping Kurt in his warmth. Kurt’s heart was still beating at a ridiculously fast rate. He wasn’t sure that it was a mistake. But at least he was getting over feeling like someone might jump out at him at any moment.

*

**BLAINE**

“Oh, God, and that girl with her-” Blaine made a wiggly dance move with his hands in the air.

Sam laughed loudly, then covered his mouth and pointed to the door of the loft. He was right. It was too late to be this loud out. Rachel always needed her beauty sleep, and Kurt had probably already popped an Ambien.

Blaine pulled the door open slowly and looked at Sam with a sense of conspiracy. Sam made his “Rachel face” which included duck lips, rolling eyes, and a raised hand. Blaine let out a bark of laughter before he could cover his mouth and turned wide-eyed toward the privacy curtains. Blocking out sound wasn’t so easy when you didn’t have interior walls.

There were no outbursts of complaint, however. No sound at all. Except some crunching. Blaine furrowed his brow in confusion, and then Sam tapped on his shoulder and pointed. There was Kurt, in the middle of the couch with both legs drawn up. One flopped slightly sideways, and in between, his hand loosely held a box of Franken-Berry.

Blaine stared for a moment. He tried to grasp the idea of Kurt eating those, despite his ragging on Blaine to eat like a grown up (“If it doesn’t expire, it isn’t  _food_.”). But there he was munching, somewhat idly, and staring at the television. Which wasn’t on.

_He’s cracked,_ Blaine thought for a moment.

“Is he okay?” Sam whispered.

Blaine licked his lips slowly, then took in the full picture. Pajama bottoms. Snuggly long-sleeved shirt. Franken-Berry. Vacant gaze.

“He’s asleep.”

“What?”

Blaine came closer and sat next to Kurt. Kurt didn’t look at him. Blaine turned and mouthed to Sam, “Sleepwalking.”

“Really?” Sam drifted closer. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s a side effect of the sleeping medication.”

“That’s scary, dude.” Sam sat on Kurt’s other side. He reached over and grabbed some Franken-Berry out of the box. “He looks like a zombie.”

“He kind of is. His brain isn’t totally turned on.” Blaine sighed and sat back. “I hate when he does this. It’s so freaky.”

He didn’t bother to whisper, anymore. Kurt couldn’t hear him.

“I dunno.” Sam slung his arm around Kurt’s shoulders. “Maybe we could get him to watch Avengers with us, this way.”

“Apparently he used to do it as a kid, too,” Blaine explained. “Just kind of wander around the house and go back to sleep, like in the laundry room, or curled up under the kitchen table, until Burt or his mom scooped him up and put him back in bed. Burt told me about it.”

Sam frowned and patted Kurt’s shoulder. “That’s dangerous. We should put a lock on the window. That’s a big drop.”

Blaine stared at Sam. He’d never thought of that before. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“No. It was just the first thing that popped to mind.” Sam gave Kurt’s back a rub and rose, taking Kurt’s pink-dust-covered hand. “C’mon, back to bed.”

“I don’t think you should wake him.”

“I wasn’t gonna.” Sam lowered and slipped an arm around Kurt, urging him to rise. Kurt just stared, his eyes shifting a little at some invisible thing in front of him. Sam put a finger to his lips and walked slowly with Kurt, guiding him back behind the curtain.

After a moment, Blaine followed and when he opened the curtain, he saw Sam coaxing Kurt to lay down. Eventually, Kurt climbed in the bed and flopped over. Sam laughed softly.

“We might have to chain him to the bed.” Sam turned and gave Blaine a wink. “Good for you, huh?”

“C’mon, Sam, don’t be gross.” Blaine rolled his eyes. Like Kurt even wanted him in the bed most of the time, anyway. “Just let him sleep.”

“It sucks he can’t sleep without pills. That’s probably not good.”

Blaine was kind of glad Kurt hadn’t been awake when they’d gotten home, to be perfectly honest. If he’d been awake when they’d gotten home, he probably would have needed to talk about the memorial. Blaine wouldn’t have known what to say.

“You think the memorial went okay?” Sam sat on the edge of the bed and patted Kurt’s leg.

Blaine headed over to the dresser to change into a tank top and some shorts. “I hope so. I don’t think he would’ve tried to sleep if he was upset. But it’s not like Rachel would sit and talk with him. I can hear her snoring.”

“I just meant- I don’t know what I mean. It would suck to have gone to so many funerals by his age, y’know?” Sam looked over at the nightstand and reached over to pick something up.

“I just wish she’d help,” Blaine said through the fabric of his shirt. He tugged it down. “She’s known him longer. It would mean a lot to him.”

Sam turned something over in his hands and sighed. “Maybe Mercedes would come. She’s known him even longer. And she doesn’t have her head up her big diva butt.”

Blaine chuckled.

“Dude, I’m kinda over her Barbra hair-apparent thing. Did you know Kurt cut himself out of that jacket?” Sam got up, holding a little baggy with brass buttons.

“What jacket?” Blaine came over and stared at the bag.

“The one I got him. I wish he’d just…” Sam shook his head. “I’m gonna go crash. I have work in the morning. Not model work, but work work.”

“Okay.” Blaine crawled up on the bed and lay next to Kurt, watching his face. Eyebrows unfurrowed, lids half-shut. His little zombie fiancé.

Blaine inched forward and kissed his forehead, then reached over and ran his hand through the hair on the back of Kurt’s head while he slept, until Blaine fell asleep himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: assault, homophobic slurs, violence, dub-con, depression
> 
> A/N : We started this fic after discussions about the spoilers for ‘Bash’ and our suspicions that Glee would handle the plot badly and leave no on-screen time for Kurt to come to terms with the attack. This fic is not for Blaine/Klaine fans.
> 
> Chapter Note: Trigger warnings especially relevant for this chapter.

**KURT**

_I am Kurt Hummel,_  Kurt chanted silently. _I am Kurt Hummel._

Kurt Hummel had been harassed and bullied for being who he was since he was three years old. Kurt Hummel had been systematically shut out of roles and places where he belonged because he wasn’t rich enough, normal enough, straight-acting enough. Kurt Hummel had been slushied, shoved, kicked, sexually assaulted, threatened with death, thrown, beaten, and choked.

Kurt Hummel could make it through a subway ride on his own.

No matter how he chanted, though, his hands shook and he flinched when large men came too near. By the third stop, Kurt just committed to his freak-on-the-street act and flinched wherever he felt like it. And started muttering to himself.

“Stupid Franken-Berry dust all in my bed, couldn’t brush it off before it got in the covers, SheBLAMing all night, selfish ‘Broadway baby’ you sound like you ate a flock of parakeets in the morning, use up all my hot water, divaing out again like I couldn’t school you, can’t do a damn dish yourselves, GOD my hand hurts…”

Strangely, it made him feel a little better.

When he left the car, a few people looked relieved, and he hurried through the station and up the stairs, back to the light. Of course, he’d never been attacked on the subway, but he had seen men come after girls there. The casual groping, yes. But he’d also, late one night on his way home from his second job (before The Spotlight), seen a man start screaming,  _screaming_ , at a young woman for not wanting to talk to him. Kurt had only glimpsed the man walking in that direction, then heard a quick, “I’m sorry, just trying to read” from the woman, before the man suddenly flipped a switch to full volume. No one else had looked up. People were actively trying not to look.

And Kurt had come over and sat beside the girl, draping his arm over her shoulders and doing his best impression of Finn: “Hey, dude!  _Chill_. Back up off my girl.”

And the asshole had held his hands up and apologized to  _Kurt._

Straights were crazy.

Reflecting on this memory got Kurt as far as the block of the Vogue building. It also made him realize that he either needed to get bitten by a radioactive insect or animal of some kind, or stop trying to help people. That guy on the subway could have easily read him as gay (really, his outfits, his voice) and cracked his skull open. Kurt paused just as he entered the lobby. The next thought followed immediately, against his will: That guy on the subway could have easily cracked open the skull of the women he’d been harassing, while everyone pretended that nothing was happening.

Kurt stood, frozen, and tried to catch his breath as his eyes were assaulted by the sight of Kitt’s discarded body, and he felt the life leaving Kitt once again.

“Kurt!”

Kurt breathed in and out slowly, then looked up to see Chase’s friendly grin fall. What had he done wrong? Was it his face?

“Hey. Hope things haven’t caught fire here without me,” Kurt tried to joke.

“Yeah… It’s been strange not having you at meetings to shoot down my stupid ideas.”

“They’re not stupid!” Kurt protested. “Maybe  _dated…_  At least they weren’t leather socks.”

“Never.” Chase shook his head. “Are you coming up?”

Kurt nodded and willed his legs to move and his lungs to keep giving his brain oxygen.

_I am Kurt Hummel. I am Kurt Hummel._

But that didn’t work here, any more than it had on the subway. Chase was looking at him like he might… Kurt didn’t know what Chase expected him to do.

He replaced the words, even the voice saying them:  _You’re okay. You’re okay._

And for a moment, he was.

As they took the elevator up to their floor, Kurt pressed Chase for information about the going-on about the office in his absence, and Chase obliged. But every so often, Kurt caught Chase’s eyes drifting, looking at Kurt’s eye, the bruise starting to yellow on his chin, the marks on his neck, his right hand.

Honestly, Kurt was just going to take the splints off and tape his fingers up the way he had when he was in Glee and Cheerios.

The doors opened to familiar faces. Ones that did a better job of hiding their pity and fear. Kurt pondered, for a second before Isabelle came into view, how they would probably have come to  _his_  memorial, if it had come to that. He wasn’t part of their community, but he’d been on the team long enough… and quite a few of them were gay, or knew so many gay people that a single slight or blow against someone for their perceived gender or sexuality caused hours of ranting around the break room.

No one said a word. It was a suffocating silence, but one he would have to live with. He couldn’t talk about this at work. He couldn’t talk about it at home anymore, or to his father, or Carole, who had already lost her son and wouldn’t be coming up to visit.

So he smiled widely and accepted Isabelle’s skinny-armed, but nearly magical and all encompassing hug. It would have to do, to ground him for the rest of the day.

“God, I’m so glad you’re back!” she gushed. “Every time we have a meeting, there’s just something  _missing_ around the conference table.”

“Taste?” Kurt teased.

Isabelle let out a two-syllable cackle. “Ohhhh. I was thinking  _youth_.”

The conference started, and Kurt moved to get the coffee going. There was another intern there, however, a young woman named Violet who Kurt hadn’t seen before. She was put to work with the coffee and fetching the multimedia instead, while Kurt sat in on the meeting and tried to catch up. He supposed it made sense to have a new intern, since Isabelle used him as assistant and not coffeemaker these days. When Violet couldn’t find what she was looking for, and came back into the conference room with tears threatening, Kurt hopped up and went with her to find what she needed.

The discussion revolved almost entirely around their new content for the month, and the upcoming photoshoots, for which Kurt was glad. He wasn’t able to contribute  _much_ , but he was able to add in some important clarifications as they set things up. At the end, Kurt summarized their action list, and everyone noted what they were to do for the week.

Shortly afterward, a man and woman came in to discuss their upcoming “shoe month.” They were seated at the table with everyone but a few who had to leave to get their departments going.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Isabelle said.

“The pleasure is ours,” the woman said.

“I’ll get a few mock-ups from my office.” Isabelle rose and circled her finger around to the new intern, directing her to bring by more coffee, before disappearing.

“Wow,” the man chuckled. “Look at that shiner!”

Kurt froze. He took a deep breath.

_You’re okay._

Then he looked up. The man whistled.

“Damn. Did you get in a fight, or did you get in a fight?” he let out a bold, resounding laugh.

“I got in a fight,” Kurt deadpanned.

“Um,” Chase said uncomfortably. “So Montag is looking to do some multimedia work on the web-”

“Should we see the other guy?” the man continued.

“If you do, you should probably notify the police,” Kurt breezed. “And… maybe don’t get too close.”

The man started to frown, and Isabelle returned. She set the mock-ups on the table, then frowned and looked to Chase.

“So, why were  _you_  fighting?”

“Um, because they didn’t like gay people.”

“John, seriously.” Isabelle said, pushing the first mock-up toward him. “We’re  _working_. Assuage your curiosity another time. Now is time for  _shoes_. Stop making my assistants uncomfortable.”

“He’s fine! I’m not making him uncomfortable.”

“That’s what you said about the one who sued you last year,” she said coolly, then looked at the woman, who laughed.

Kurt took another slow breath and smiled up at Isabelle gratefully. He was Kurt Hummel. He could deal with a few rude, nosy comments. He’d survived New Directions, after all.

*

They were still putting the shoot together when Kurt arrived with two trays of coffee and a box of cronuts. Isabelle gave him a nod and a reassuring smile, then turned back to the photographer and gestured emphatically with her hands.

Kurt floated around, handing out the coffees to the photographer, the set designer, among others, and offering around the cronuts. There was no shortage of curious looks cast in Kurt’s direction, but he blocked them out and focused on the set. There was a weathered wall as backdrop composed of faux brick, but broken, as though it had been blown up with a bomb or something. And there were a couple of day-workers carrying furniture into the middle of it all. Kurt tilted his head to the side as they brought on a mattress.

What exactly was the concept here? Apocalyptic hanky panky? STD PSA?

He shook his head and got out his notepad, ready to do what was asked of him. He was Kurt Hummel. He was an expediter. He got shoots moving and made sure things got done.

Soon the models were coming onto the set, the lead being a willowy girl with a shimmering garment and a white wig poofed out into a fro. The only color was her velvety olive skin, her lips painted into a blue heart, and sparkling sapphire shoes. The photographer directed her to lie on the bed, and then her partners for the scene, three hunky guys in mostly ripped away clothing came up and stood around, waiting to be positioned.

Kurt started breathing heavily as the men moved closer to her. Started to  _surround_  her. His notepad dropped to the floor.

It was as though he blinked and suddenly he was pulling on the bicep of one of the models. Confused, the man tried to shrug Kurt off, and Kurt startled backward, knocking into a table. A loud crash jointed the cacophony of voices and  _noise_ around him—

_Get that kid off the set!_

_Are you fucking kidding me, faggot?_

_What is going on?_

_Are you fucking kidding me?!_

_Kurt! Are you okay?_

_Do you think you’re a fucking ninja or something?_

—and then he sprawled backward, pushing himself along like a crab walk on his hands until he hit the wall of the set. The sound of his shaky breathing filled his ears, and as one of the models came closer to him, he raised his hands at the sight of the man who had choked Kitt to death and then come for him, and he started to scream…

“No, no,  _please no_ , I didn’t- I  _can’t_ , okay? I can’t… I-I please,  _please…_ ” His voice withered away into a soundless gasp.

Things began to quiet down. Soon, his panicked ramblings were the only thing he could hear. But he couldn’t stop. Not shaking, or crying, or hiding behind his hands. He’d never been so confused, so unable to  _move._

“Breathe, Kurt. Okay? Honey,  _breathe_. It’s gonna be okay. No one’s mad,” Isabelle’s voice crooned softly.

That had to be a lie, some part of Kurt’s brain told him. Time is money. Histrionics on the set were reserved for supermodels and photographers only.

“Can you breathe?” she urged again. “We have a bag. Do you need to breathe in the bag?”

“N-n-n-n…”

“Is there someone I can call? CHASE!” Isabelle turned and gestured for him to come. “Talk to the photographer. Get everything going again.”

“But uh, the vase-”

“Find something else. It’s a fucking vase, Chase. They’re selling the  _clothes_. Figure it out. Paint a diet Coke can and stick it up there or something.” She looked back to Kurt. “Who can I call?”

“I-I…” Kurt was beginning to regain focus. At least he was sure where he was now, but he couldn’t get control. He was still terrified. How was he so terrified of a ridiculous, clichéd,  _rapey_  photoshoot? “I-I-I d-don’t know. I um…”

  
“That’s okay, Kurt. That’s okay.” Isabelle cupped her hand delicately along his cheek. “I can go with you to the hospital.”

“I-I no, no, I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

Slowly, she took his hands in her own, and Kurt looked down to see bits of blue stained  glass sticking out of his skin. Glittery jewel-like pieces on a sea of red.

“My hands,” he muttered.

“You might need some stitches. I’ll come with you, okay? Is that okay? Is there anyone else you want?”

Kurt looked up at her, then around at the shoot. The lead model had her hand frozen in the middle of her chest, and she paid no attention to the man trying to retouch her make-up. She just stared at Kurt, brows furrowed and eyes riveted.

God, he had just fucked up her big job. The other three had gone off set, thankfully. The photographer was pressing his lips together tightly and gesturing with his hands, flinging them in the air and making throat gashing motions.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He lifted his chin and called to the model. “I’m  _sorry_!”

“It’s okay, sweetie!” she called back. She raised one hand and forced a smile. “I’ll use it. It’ll help make the shots feel more real!”

What a liar. What a kind, pretty liar.

Isabelle petted his cheek again. “Let’s go, huh? Does it hurt?”

“I-I can’t feel anything.”

She moved closer, then stopped as he flinched. “Can I help you up?”

“I could help?” It was one of the male models. The other three seemed to have gone off set, thankfully. Kurt cringed inwardly as his body shrank involuntarily from the stupidly attractive man. It was his build, Kurt realized, that reminded him of his attacker. The way he carried his muscles… the general structure of his cheekbones… but he was a lot more attractive. “Or… not. I’ll… I’ll go over there.”

It took a few more moments before Kurt was able to get up on his own. And it required pushing himself up, even with the glass in his hands. Isabelle hovered close by.

“You’re safe, sweetheart. I know it doesn’t feel that way, but we won’t let anyone hurt you here,” she promised.

His body didn’t believe her, but her words were nice to hear. Even if this was probably his last day on the job. His replacement was already there. Not being able to find the computer cables was a much smaller offense than ruining an expensive photoshoot.

*

The nurses had numbed his hands at the hospital, and given him something to calm down, before a doctor came by and stitched up the many little cuts in both of his hands, as well as one on his chin from holding his hands over his face, and re-splinted two fingers on his right hand. They’d also poked him a little and asked if he wanted a psych consult. But having Isabelle there meant that she could explain what had happened, and he wasn’t considered to be a “threat to himself.” So he was free to go.

Not that he had anywhere to go. Isabelle took him back to the loft, which was empty, and spent some time there first mentioning how he’d made up the place, and making him some tea, then sitting with him, while he quietly tried and failed to get a hold on the mug. He was grateful, though, that she didn’t try to feed it to him.

“I’m sorry,” he managed once more, after she had told a long story about her first apartment in New York.

“I shouldn’t have let you come back to work so soon. Or had you come with me on a shoot where I didn’t know the theme.” Her strong, thin hand rubbed along his forearm. “I don’t know why I didn’t have you come on a day when I had less to do, and could sit with you in the office a spell. Sort out how to ease you back into things the  _right_  way.”

Kurt tightened his jaw and braced himself. “I-I understand, i-if you don’t want me to come back.”

“God.” Isabelle bowed her head forward and pinched the bridge of her nose. Then she craned her head to the side and narrowed her eyes at him in an inscrutable look. “I hope one day you realize I’m not one of the people who is going to discard you the moment our relationship becomes inconvenient.”

Kurt looked to her and knit his brows together. “I ruined the set. I cost them so much time. What if the models can’t get into the right head space after that? What if the photographer is too angry and walks off?”

“Then he’s an unprofessional  _ass._ You got triggered. You couldn’t help it.” Isabelle moved her hand to the back of his head and petted him in slow, gentle strokes. “Do you understand that? You were  _triggered._ I want you back, but I want you to give yourself some more time to heal first, okay?”

Kurt looked down at the bandages on his hands. Broken, cut. Useless.

“We’ll talk about it again when you’ve had more time. I missed you. I wanted you back. I really should have known better. I’ve had friends who’ve gone through similar things.” She shook her head slowly, creasing her eyes as though the memory pained her. “What they wouldn’t have given to have someone like you on their side, rushing in to their aid.”

“Playing hero. And failing.”

“There’s no  _playing_ , Kurt. Heroes don’t always win,” she said with heavy sadness in her voice.

Kurt let her words settle in. Slowly, he allowed himself to lean into her, and her to put her arms around his shoulders. His tiny fairy godmother. If only her magic could make him whole again. Until then, he would just keep breaking and bleeding on things.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: assault, homophobic slurs, violence, dub-con, depression
> 
> A/N : We started this fic after discussions about the spoilers for ‘Bash’ and our suspicions that Glee would handle the plot badly and leave no on-screen time for Kurt to come to terms with the attack. This fic is not for Blaine/Klaine fans.
> 
> Chapter Note: Trigger warnings especially relevant for this chapter.

**Kurt**

Isabelle stayed for as long as she could, then apologized for having to leave. Kurt understood, though. He’d made an awful mess for her to clean up, and she still didn’t have a functional personal assistant. Despite her promises, he suspected that she might have to start interviewing soon.

After she’d left, Kurt lay back on the couch and felt slightly dizzy. The shot they’d given him at the hospital had calmed him some, and his hands still felt numb. But now he really just felt spacey, like he might float off any moment.

Maybe he could. He wasn’t particularly happy being alone until one of his roommates came home, but he also felt his face beginning to burn at the thought of having to explain his  _hands._ And if- no,  _when-_  he needed to get out of his work outfit, he was going to need help. He looked down at his corset-vest and button up pants. With a sudden jerk, he half-way got up and then fell to the floor. He winced as he landed on one of his hands, then scrambled to his knees and reached behind him to try to pick at the lacing. It felt almost critical that he be able to do this himself.

He struggled at it for several moments, his heart starting to pound more with each failed attempt to undo the knot. If he cut the strings, he’d never be able to wear this again. But if he waited until someone came home, he’d  _have_ to let whoever it was undress him.

With a squall of a sound, Kurt gave up and threw himself back against the foot of the couch. He had no options. Maybe if he tricked Blaine into thinking he was unwrapping  _a present,_ as in sex, he would do it without looking at him with judgement.

His speculations were cut off as the door began to open. Kurt stared at it in horror, then pressed his lips into a line and darted into the kitchen, where he turned towards the counter and just stared at his hands, as though he could hide them somewhere safely out of sight until they healed.

“You were just  _amazing_ ,” Blaine gushed as he entered the apartment.

Blaine with  _Sam_. Kurt closed his eyes, cursing the reality that if he had to deal with  _one_ , he had to deal with  _the other_. They had become even more conjoined over the past week, if that were possible. Kurt looked around frantically, with no idea what he was going to find. Oven mitts. Dish towels with musical notes on them. Nothing that wouldn’t draw even more attention. He just knew that he didn’t want to have to explain himself. Not yet.

So he turned and moved quickly for the bathroom.

“Hey, Kurt-” Sam said.

But Kurt had disappeared into the bathroom, where he locked the door. This was a problem. No exit strategy.

He could hear the two of them buzzing outside, wondering if Kurt had seen them. Kurt hoped they would just leave it. Go off and do something else. Something BLAM!tastic.

There was a knock on the bathroom door.

“Hey, Kurt!” Sam said again. “Are you okay?”

Kurt sat on the edge of the tub and bit his lip.

“Do you think he’s mad?”

“We didn’t do anything,” Blaine huffed.

“I’m fine!” Kurt yelled. God, how could they even believe that? When they found out about what he’d done… maybe he could become an eccentric and just wear gloves around everywhere. He discarded the idea as he looked at the new splints.

“Why is he doing this?” Blaine said with a heavy sigh. He clearly didn’t realize that Kurt could hear them.

“He’s probably washing his face or trying to poop,” Sam said.

Kurt could hear Blaine’s shoes landing heavily against the floor as he went back to the living area. Kurt let out a breath.

“Well, we’ll be here, when you wanna come out,” Sam said.

Kurt rolled his eyes. Just what he needed. A new and exciting closet. The crazy closet.

Still, he waited until he could hear the television going to even consider coming out. Then he scissored two fingers in his pocket like pincers and pulled out the bottle of little blue pills the nice Nurse Ada had encouraged the doctor to prescribe for him. “To keep him calm.” Pretty much everyone in his life turned their noses up at therapy and mood altering drugs, but Kurt was at the point now that he’d very much felt like he was going to die on a  _shoe photoshoot_  of all places. Additionally, the doctor had warned him that getting triggered that badly would likely affect him emotionally for the rest of the day, maybe  _several_  days. With that in mind, Kurt found it hard to care as much that his dad thought psychiatry was mostly bunk and Blaine usually made jokes about people who talked to shrinks and took ‘happy pills.’ He didn’t want to have another attack, and if the pills helped… And then, he had the four authorizing letters the doctor had written into his file:.

P.T.S.D.

So he looked at the directions, ran some water into the tumbler by the sink, and swallowed

a pill. He hid the pills back in his pocket, then cracked open the door, and when he was sure that the BLAM! unit was occupied on the couch, he slipped out the door and back behind his bedroom curtain.

Kurt tried a few more times to get out of his vest, and then to get out of his pants. Then he decided would wear this outfit forever, and it wasn’t a bad outfit to start out as his superhero costume. Even if it did have some smears of blood on it. It could match the rest of him that way.

It was a marvel that they’d let him leave the hospital. Kurt hadn’t realized that he’d gotten the blood from his hands all over his face until he was in the car with Isabelle and caught sight of the horrifying ghoul there. Nurse Ada, who had gently washed his face while assuring him that everything would be fine, had reminded him of Carole a little bit, washing K.I.S.S. make-up off of Finn after he’d refused Kurt’s moist towelette.

He flopped back on the bed and looked at his messenger bag, which Isabelle had set on the bed for him. He nudged it until it fell open, then picked up the pamphlet he’d been given at the hospital. Nurse Ada had given Kurt the pamphlet, and tried to get him to check in so they could keep an eye on him. Despite Isabelle’s presence, Nurse Ada seemed to think Kurt was “in trouble.”

But some cuts on his hands, while limiting for everything he wanted to do, were not a medical emergency. Kurt realized that he missed the stronger drugs in the hospital, though. He had no inner drive to go about his day. Not for singing, not for fashion, not for addictive British period dramas. Being able to sleep through it all, without dreaming about the alleyway, had been the best thing that had happened to him since he’d woken up in the hospital.

Well. Maybe… seeing Adam again.

Kurt crossed his arms over his face and stayed that way, feeling a burning guilt in his chest until a slight lightheadedness, and a sudden failure to care about  _any_  of it, washed over him.

His face was still covered when the curtain rustled, and Blaine entered. And Kurt knew it was him, because Blaine started asking him questions and sounding like he was hurt and upset. Kurt let him go on for a while. There was never much point in arguing with Blaine. Kurt was always wrong. And if he made a point about Blaine being wrong, that was just proof that Kurt was being unfair and insensitive to Blaine’s feelings.

“Beeeeep. Kurt Hummel’s not available, but if you leave a message… He won’t get back to you, but he might order a pizza.”

Blaine quieted for a long moment. Then he came and sat on the bed. Kurt tried to resist, but eventually, he uncovered his eyes and rolled his head over to look at Blaine.

“Pineapple?” he asked.

Blaine knit his brows together and pushed his lower lip out. “I thought you were making apple stuffed pork chops tonight. I even got fresh apples.”

“I’m not making anything tonight. I fucked up.  _I’m_ fucked up.” Kurt wished he could fully react to the look on Blaine’s face. Then again, if he could, maybe he would have felt embarrassed, instead of wickedly amused. Blaine wasn’t fond of Kurt’s crude side on a good day, but Kurt had just said he was going to deny him a home-cooked meal.

“Is that why you hid? Because you don’t want to cook.”

“ _No_.” Kurt rolled his eyes. He pushed himself onto his elbows and looked into Blaine’s eyes. They hadn’t been together, really together, in a long time. Even when they weren’t getting along, Kurt got lonely for a time when touching each other wasn’t a perfunctory act, or quid pro quo.

Kurt leaned forward and pressed his lips against Blaine’s.

Blaine seemed to find this a nice surprise. His hand moved to the back of Kurt’s neck, holding him tightly like he might slip away, and the other rested so gently on his back that Kurt had to reach behind him and feel for where it was. He guided the hand to the laces of his corset, and Blaine, without a peep or even breaking the kiss, undid the knot and loosened the laces, freeing Kurt. His shoulders went loose with relief, and Kurt climbed over Blaine’s legs, smirking at him. Blaine was quick to unbutton Kurt’s pants and jerked them down.

Ah, Blaine. Always so efficient. Kurt wiggled his hips as he straddled Blaine’s legs and propped his forearms on Blaine’s shoulders. Kurt grinned, rolling the tip of his tongue along the edge of his upper lip.

“Sam is out there-” Blaine muttered, though he didn’t seem that bothered.

Something hit the floor with a rattle. Oh, Kurt knew what it was, and so he didn’t even bother to look. But the spell had been broken. Blaine peered down at the floor, not yet realizing what had fallen out of Kurt’s pocket, and then looked back to Kurt questioningly.

“What was…”

Now Blaine was noticing it all. Something about the shift in their positions let the light streaming over the privacy curtain fall over Kurt’s face. He could see Blaine’s eyes flickering around, focusing on everything wrong. The red smudges on Kurt’s vest, the stitches on his chin, the look in his eyes. Finally, Blaine reached back and grabbed Kurt’s arm and pulled his hand down.

“What happened?”

“Who cares?” Kurt said flippantly. He jerked his hand away and ground his hips down onto Blaine. “Isn’t this what you  _want_?”

He dove in again, forcefully pressing their lips together, sucking Blaine’s raspberry flavored lips as he moved back, and kissing again, open mouthed. He shifted himself slightly to rub his knee into Blaine’s crotch, causing him to groan deep in his throat.

“Mm mhmm!” Blaine’s hand cupped Kurt’s ass and squeezed hard.

There were no complaints for a minute, just smacking lips and noises vibrating out of Blaine. Kurt hummed slightly, pushing all of his frustration and focus into making Blaine come his pants. He pulled his knee back and slipped his fingers between Blaine’s legs…

“Ah…” Kurt stopped and flexed his hand. “Can you get your button for me?”

“Kurt,  _what_ is going on? Are you just doing this to keep me from asking what happened?” Blaine shoved Kurt back and jumped off the bed. “How did you hurt your hands again? And what’s…?”

He picked up the bottle off the floor. “Why do you have  _valium_?”

Kurt shrugged and fell back on the pillows. “Do we have to do this now? We’re engaged. Engaged people…  _want_  each other.”

“Not like  _that_ , no!” Blaine snapped.

“Why not? You had no problem humping me while I was half asleep the other day! Was I in  _less_  pain when I’d just gotten out of the  _hospital_? You never had a problem going for it when I begged you to get your fucking hands off of me! ” Kurt yelled back. “Why do you have to be so fucking picky  _now?_!”

Blaine’s eyes widened. Multiple f-bombs in one night. “I didn’t-! I’m not  _picky_. I just don’t want to be  _used_  in whatever weird, self-involved, messed up game you’re playing!”

“I’m not playing a game! This isn’t a  _game_ , Blaine, this is  _my life now_!”

“You’re hiding in the bathroom, you’re acting like you want to have sex when you  _clearly_ just want me to shut up, you’re trying to make me look bad in front of  _Sam-_ ”

Kurt rolled his eyes. Of  _course_ , Blaine cared more about Sam’s reaction to hearing their fight than Kurt’s injuries right in front of him. “I’m not going to come between you and your  _boyfriend_.”

“Sam’s not my- What? What is wrong with you?” Blaine unscrewed the top of the pill bottle and stormed toward the bathroom.

“Hey. Hey, don’t you dare!” Kurt sprung up and then collapsed on his wobbly legs. He didn’t know if his muscles were spent from the day or loosened by whatever the drug did for him. He pushed to his feet and ran after Blaine. Of course, Sam had reappeared, looking both alarmed and bewildered.

“Don’t you dare, Blaine!” Kurt cried.

“Guys!” Sam held his hands up.

“I will if you don’t tell me what happened!” Blaine yelled back.

“Guys,  _chill_!” Sam said more loudly.

“You’re the one who wanted me to  _shut up_! Why don’t you make up your mind?!” Kurt pushed past Sam, and although Blaine was pulling back, Kurt grabbed Blaine’s hand and wrested the bottle of pills from him, leaving a smear of blood on Blaine’s fingers.

Kurt wasn’t even sure if he wanted the stupid pills, but Blaine didn’t get to make that decision.

“Y-you’re bleeding,” Blaine said in a hushed voice. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he stared at his hand. “Did- Did you get in another fight? What happened at work? I thought you said you’d be late today, but you’re home, acting  _crazy!_ ”

“I am crazy,” Kurt replied quietly. He turned and went back to the bedroom.

Blaine and Sam talked for a moment, while Kurt kicked his trunk out from under the bed and put the pills inside with his other hidden items, and closed it again with a click. He then pushed it back out of sight with his toe, and thanks to Blaine’s swift fingers, managed to wiggle out of his clothes. He was in nothing but a henley and his briefs when Blaine came back, looking a little angry still, but holding his (newly washed) fists by his side and opening his eyes wide in the way he did when he wanted to keep control of what was already a trigger temper.

“Have you and Sam made a decision what to do about me yet?” Kurt muttered bitterly. “It must be such a  _problem_  for the two of you.”

“Kurt, what I want is for you to tell me what happened today,” Blaine said in a measured voice. “What  _happened_  to you? I don’t want you offering me up your body, like we can’t… y’know-  _be together_ like real people. I don’t want you checked out, or acting like somebody else. You make me feel like a creep when you do that.”

“I didn’t want you to feel like a creep.” Kurt looked down at his hands again and felt the anger leeching out of him. He closed his eyes, feeling the world swirling. “Today was really hard. I just wanted to put it away. For us to be close.”

“Yeah? First day back? A lot of work to do?”

“I completely freaked out on the set. I thought I was… I-I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t… I’m sorry, Blaine. I can’t explain it without…” Kurt shook his head.

Blaine stared at him, brows pushed together, and conflict and confusion written all over his face. “You thought you were…? What?”

“I thought I was back in the alley. I thought I saw them… Coming after her, then me…” Kurt murmured. He explained as much as he could, as quickly as he could, interrupting every so often to apologize for burdening Blaine with this yet again.

There might not really be anything Kurt could do to make himself normal again. And he didn’t know what to do, if that turned out to be true. If life would be this hard, and this awful, forever.

But Blaine didn’t complain, this time. He didn’t say much of anything, just drew closer and closer, and eventually took one of Kurt’s hands while he watched him talking. When Kurt finished, he flopped back on the pillows again, wrinkling his nose, and let out a shaky breath.

“You don’t have to stay. The valium is supposed to keep me from panicking, but I kind of feel sleepy. I’ll probably just… try to, y’know. Sleep,” Kurt said. He looked at Blaine, who swallowed and squeezed his hand. Kurt winced and pulled away.

“Crap, I um. I didn’t mean to…”

“S’okay.”

“I’ll stay. Just try to relax, okay. Put the day away and forget about it. Screw that stupid photographer.”

“He’s kind of a big deal.”

“Who cares? They’re just shoes. He sounds full of himself. And like, prissy.”

Kurt managed a half-smile. “How does he sound prissy?”

“His ‘concept’ is the shoe-pocalypse and he can’t handle a little blood on the set?” Blaine shook his head sassily. “Drama queen!”

Kurt bit his lip, then he yawned. Blaine lay down and propped his head up with one hand.

“You can rest.”

“I guess I do have a superhero team here to protect me, in case any figments of my screwed up imagination try to kill me,” Kurt drawled.

“Pretty much.”

Kurt lolled his head to the side and draped his hands over his body. Then, with a sigh, he curled up tightly onto his side and closed his eyes, trying to think of nothing.

*

**BLAINE**

Blaine stepped out of the curtained off section of the loft and walked to the couch. Sam looked up from the film he was pretending to watch (Blaine could tell he was faking it, since he wasn’t mouthing along which he always did when he was really watching).

“How is he?” Sam asked.

Blaine sighed. “Asleep for now.” He let himself fall into the couch next to Sam.

“I just wish there was something I could do. He kept-” He brushed his hand over the side of his face, clasping his own chin for a moment before letting his hand drop into his lap, “he kept  _apologising_ to me.”

Sam frowned. “Why?”

Blaine shrugged again and shook his head a little. “He thinks I am disappointed in him because he isn’t recovering fast enough.” He looked at Sam. His friend seemed to be waiting for some kind of explanation. “I’m not! I just want him to be okay. Maybe I’ve been pushing him, but I just thought- I don’t know. Maybe if I could make him do normal stuff again, like getting dressed, going out, getting back to work … it would make it easier to forget?”

“That sounds like it could work,” Sam offered. “I mean, when you and Kurt broke up, you were like, super-sad, but then you got back on the horse and everything ended up okay.”

“Yeah, but that’s just it,” Blaine replied. “It’s like a part of him doesn’t want that. He just… keeps talking about it, over and over, he’s reliving it every single day, and no matter what I do to try and distract him from dwelling on it, it won’t work.”

He threw his hands up in a helpless gesture.

“It’s like I don’t know him anymore.  Did you see his  _hands_? He had a complete meltdown at work and maimed himself all because some stupid photographer set up his shoe ad like a gang bang. And now he’s taking  _valium_ …He was already popping Ambien almost every night…I’m like… _who are you_?”

Sam frowned. “But if it helps to calm him…?” he started, but Blaine ignored him.

“The worst thing is,” he continued, “that it feels like he’s looking at  _me_  for answers.” He sighed with frustration. “I’m 18, Sam. What do I know about helping someone recover from trauma like that?”

Sam bit his lip. “Well, you  _did_  sort of go through the same, didn’t you? Before you transferred to Dalton?” he asked carefully. “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but…maybe you should make an exception for Kurt? He’s your fiancé. He loves you. And I think he just wants to feel like someone understands what he’s feeling right now.”

Blaine hung his head. “But I don’t,” he whispered quietly.

“But-” Sam started, but Blaine looked up and cut him off.

  
“I don’t, because that never actually happened.”

Sam blinked, his mouth hanging open a little. “Uh…?” he prompted.

Blaine could feel his stomach turn to lead. He wished he didn’t have to say it out loud. It made everything so horribly real. He looked Sam in the eye. “I didn’t get bashed at my old school,” he confessed.

“You… got bashed at  _Dalton_?” Sam asked incredulously, looking concerned.

“ _No_ ,” Blaine replied, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Seriously, he knew Sam had more abs than brains, but did he have to choose now of all times to be extra stupid? “I didn’t get bashed at all. Yeah, I transferred because I was bullied, but…it never got physical.” He straightened his shoulders a little and crossed his arms over his chest as he braced himself for Sam’s judgement.

“I don’t get it,” his friend said. “Why would you tell everyone that if it isn’t true?”

“I told you guys because I told Kurt.” Blaine took a deep breath. “And I told Kurt because…I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to the prom with him.”

There. It was out. He had imagined feeling lighter after saying it, but his stomach still felt heavy and it was like a hand was squeezing his throat. Sam was still looking at him like he had just confessed to being 2/3rd alien, so he started babbling to explain. “Look, we had just started dating, it was all still very fresh…I didn’t know him that well, okay? And prom is like, this big deal, with the limo and the carnations and me picking him up at his dad’s, and- to be honest, at that point I wasn’t even sure Kurt wasn’t going to come wearing a  _dress_ -”

“It was a kilt, dude,” Sam said, his voice low and gruff.

“Yeah, I know, but… you remember how…  _out there_  his clothes used to be, right? Especially when he was at Dalton and only had the weekends to pick his own outfits.”  
  
Sam shrugged but cocked his head. It encouraged Blaine to go on.

“I guess I just…freaked out. I made it up on the spot, thinking he’d leave it alone after that. And he did, sort of. But…” Blaine looked away from Sam, his eyes going over but not really seeing the wall behind him. “The way he looked at me, Sam. Like I was some kind of hero. I had never felt like that before. It made me feel like I should take the plunge and go to the dance with him.” He could just see it now; Kurt’s eyes, huge and filled with emotion, looking at him in wonderment and admiration. It was addictive. He’d do anything to have Kurt look at him like that all the time.

Sam cleared his throat. Blaine blinked, and quickly resumed his story. “I was going to tell him after the dance. I was! But then the whole Prom Queen thing happened, and I was so…blown away by his courage that I just…I couldn’t do it. He could face an entire school of bullies with a raised head to take that crown, and I couldn’t even tell him I had been scared to go to prom with him.” Blaine scoffed at himself. “After that, I had to keep it a secret. I couldn’t disappoint him like that. But now, he keeps wanting me to talk about it, like I can offer some kind of solution, some special insight that could help him deal with it.”

“Hold on,” Sam said, “are you blaming Kurt for that?”

Blaine shook his head. “No, but…Kurt has always put me on a pedestal. You have no idea what kind of pressure is it to always be his ‘teenage dream’. I’m just a guy…”

"Dude, you gotta tell him," Sam said. "You’re getting married! How would you feel if he were lying about something like that?"

Blaine shook his head. Sam just didn’t understand. “I can’t. Do you have any idea what that would do to him? It’s like he has built up this whole ideal of me around it, and now he keeps asking me how I did it, how I survived. He wants to know how to be like me. He needs me to be that guy he made up in his head.”

“No, I think what he needs is honesty,” Sam countered.

Blaine frowned. “I can’t. Tell him.” He gave Sam a desperate look. “If I tell him now… he’d leave me. And I don’t want to lose what we have over a lie I told when I was sixteen! It was a stupid mistake.”

"He deserves to know," Sam insisted. "This is not just some little white lie about his new haircut or something. This is huge."

"Exactly!" Blaine agreed. "It’s  _huge_. That’s why I can’t.” He sighed. “Kurt… he’s so _vulnerable_  right now. I can’t do that to him, Sam.”

Sam looked at him and said nothing. The longer he looked, the more uncomfortable Blaine felt. Why wasn’t Sam on his side? Didn’t he understand that it was too late to tell Kurt the truth now? The last time he had told Kurt the truth, they had been broken up for months.

Or was it because Sam had heard Kurt’s accusations about them having sex? It was so unfair! Kurt never really said he wasn’t into it; he hadn’t done it to hurt him. He loved Kurt, and he had just wanted to comfort him every way he could. And now Kurt had made him out to be some kind of pervert, who could be tricked and distracted by climbing into his lap (the fact that it might almost have worked, if Kurt’s hands hadn’t been hurt didn’t do anything to make Blaine feel better about that).

Whatever it was, he hoped Sam knew that he was doing the best he could. After having Kurt lash out at him, he really couldn’t deal with his best friend siding against him too.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” he said quietly. “See you tomorrow, Sam.”

As he switched on the small light by his side of the bed, Blaine saw Kurt, once again balled up under his sheets. Though he was actually taller than Blaine, he looked tiny and young. Blaine slipped under the blanket on his side and stared up at the ceiling. Part of him wanted to wake Kurt and tell him everything, but he was so afraid of the consequences that he couldn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Kurt,” he whispered into the dark. Kurt’s deep and steady breaths were his only reply.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: assault, homophobic slurs, violence, dub-con, depression
> 
> A/N : We started this fic after discussions about the spoilers for ‘Bash’ and our suspicions that Glee would handle the plot badly and leave no on-screen time for Kurt to come to terms with the attack. This fic is not for Blaine/Klaine fans.
> 
> Chapter Note: Here comes the sun, dooten doo doo…

**KURT**

By the time Kurt woke up from his drug-induced sleep, Blaine’s side of the bed was empty. Kurt had heard Rachel earlier, the noise from the pipes in the shower always half-waking him up (if the steady thrum of Rachel’s elliptical hadn’t already done the job), but he had stayed under the covers trying to ignore it and go back to sleep. That must have worked, because he hadn’t noticed Blaine getting up at all. The loft was quiet. Sam must have left for work too. Very slowly, Kurt brought himself into a sitting position, blinking against the light that streamed in from the window. For a moment, he wondered why his body hurt like he had run a marathon- then he remembered. Running, crawling, ducking away from invisible danger at the photoshoot, somehow crashing into a table to escape the attackers from his memory as they overlapped with the present and projected themselves onto the models, and then the awkward fall from the couch as he tried to undress himself…that would make all of his muscles feel like they were on fire. His face flushed with embarrassment. He looked down at his bandaged hands. Now he was double as useless. He cast a look around the room in despair, his eyes landing on the mannequin that had Sam’s jacket on it, sans buttons, a few folds in the back sloppily pinned with his left hand. Kurt choked out a sob. He could forget about working on that for now. By the time he’d be able to do anything with his hands again, the jacket would no longer be avant-garde. It’d be last season. He would have to keep it in his closet for a few years and, if he was lucky, be able to wear it as retro at some point.

“Kurt?”

Kurt froze, closing his eyes quickly and willing his unshed tears back into their ducts. He swallowed hard and tried to compose himself. “I’m not dressed, Sam,” he called out.

“Can I make you a tea or something?” Sam offered from the other side of the curtain.

Kurt was torn between insisting he could do that himself, and wanting Sam to go so he could try and get dressed in peace. But Blaine wasn’t here to see him struggle, and Sam was the only one who hadn’t complained about helping him. Well, openly complained, anyway.

“Thanks. I’d like that,” Kurt replied, and waited until he heard Sam’s footsteps retreat before getting out of bed and walking to his closet. With his hands all bandaged up, he could forget about anything with buttons and zippers for now. He sighed. It was back to oversized sweaters and drawstring-sweatpants again.

When he came to the living room, Sam was standing halfway from the kitchen holding two mugs. It looked like he had been standing there a while, trying to decide whether or not to sit down or bring it to him. Kurt held up his bandaged hands and smiled a little. “On the table?” he suggested. He’d have to wait until his tea cooled before trying to lift the mug, anyway.

“Right,” Sam said, putting the mugs down on the table. “Should I…uh, find a straw or something?” he offered.

Kurt shook his head. “Maybe later.” He looked around the loft. It was quite messy and he was tempted to start cleaning up, but it would have to wait. He didn’t relish the idea of having Sam watch him move around the place with his sore muscles like a senior citizen.

Sam was still standing by the table, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “So…how are you?” he asked after a moment.

Kurt offered him a thin-lipped smile. “I’d say fine, but I think last night made it kind of obvious that I’m not,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. He shrugged.

Sam nodded awkwardly. “Is there something I can do?” he offered.

Kurt shook his head. He didn’t want to volunteer any details about what had caused the hiding and their fight, but if Sam asked, he wasn’t going to lie. It was too exhausting, and Blaine might have told him everything already anyway, or at least the parts Sam hadn’t heard through the privacy curtain. Kurt’s face flushed a little as he thought about the things he had said to Blaine, not realizing Sam was just a few feet away. The two of them were practically the Whitney and Bobby of Broadway-hopeful dramatic relationships.

 “Shouldn’t you be at work?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Nah, they didn’t need me today,” Sam replied. “I thought I might check out that new gym down the street later.”

“That sounds good,” Kurt replied noncommittally. They shared a moment of silence.

“Kurt, I have to tell you something,” Sam said. “It’s, uh…not really going to make anything better, but- I think you should know. I talked to Blaine last night…”

Kurt took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It never stopped. Every time he thought he had hit rock bottom, something else would drive him even deeper into the ground. What was it gonna be? Had Blaine complained to Sam about how tired he was of helping him (again)? Or had he confessed to Sam how he had cheated on Kurt (again)? In the split seconds it took for Sam to formulate his words, Kurt decided it had to be the latter. He hadn’t exactly been available or open for Blaine’s needs, or at least, not in the way that Blaine wanted him, and Kurt had known Blaine’s eyes- and other body parts- would wander sooner or later. So it had been sooner. So be it.

“ _Blainewasneverbashed_ ,” Sam said in a rush, his cheeks reddening as he stared down at his feet.

“…What?” Kurt asked, expecting to hear something else.

  
Sam sighed. He chewed his lower lip for a moment and then spoke again. “Blaine was never bashed at his dance,” he said more slowly. “I’m sorry, I’m kind of feeling like I’m ratting him out. But I thought you should know.”

Kurt shook his head, kept shaking it as he sank down on a kitchen chair. “No, that’s impossible. He _told_  me-”

“Kurt, why would he tell me he wasn’t if he was?” Sam interjected.

Kurt shrugged. “Denial, shame, flashbacks of what happened getting to him because of me-”

“No, listen. I really think he was telling the truth. I’m his best friend.”

At this, Kurt looked up, his eyes wet, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You’d think, as his fiancé, that would be  _me_.”

It was supposed to come out witty, but the words tasted bitter in his mouth and he saw a look of hurt flash over Sam’s face. But before he could apologise, it was gone. Sam looked just a little more stone-faced now, but very determined.

“He feels really bad about it. I told him he should tell you, but-”

“Why would he lie to me like that?” Kurt asked.

Sam hesitated, and it made anticipation of the answer worse. “Maybe you should ask him that,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

“Did he tell you?” Kurt asked sharply. He knew it wasn’t Sam’s fault, but right now, Sam was in league with Blaine, and he was beginning to feel anger rising.

“Yeah, but-” Sam tried, but the look in Kurt’s eyes cowed him. “He said he made it up because he wasn’t sure about going to the dance at McKinley with you,” he confessed. Then he started to ramble off an apology, or maybe some sort of defence of Blaine… Kurt stopped listening.

  
There it was. It was so unbelievably trivial that Kurt believed it at once. Blaine had put himself in the place of hundreds- thousands- of victims, gay kids like themselves who had suffered like Kurt was suffering now, and used it as an excuse to get out of a date.

Kurt was glad he hadn’t had breakfast yet- it would have come out by now. He noticed his hands were shaking. He had balled them into tight fists despite the bandages, and a few spots of blood were seeping into the surface layers. He willed himself to relax them, concentrating on the sting of the stitches as he tried to figure out what to do. He couldn’t stay here. Blaine only had the morning shift at the diner and would be home in the afternoon. He knew he had to talk to him at some point, but not now.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said again. Kurt looked up to him as if he was surprised to see him still standing there. “Can I get you anything?”

Kurt saw his chance. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Could you find me that straw after all, Sam? I think there may be some in the cupboard over the stove.”

Sam nodded and took up a chair to stand on to reach the cupboard. As he turned his back, Kurt got up, grabbed his phone from the coffee table, and padded to the door. Sam was still talking, something about Blaine having seen the errors of his ways, and Kurt tuned him out, grabbed a pair of shoes and slid open the door quietly. He was down three flights of stairs as he heard Sam call out for him.

Maybe it was unfair to disappear like this, but he had no choice. All he knew was that he had to go before Blaine got back, or he could not be responsible for what he would do.

*

Kurt walked. He walked down several blocks without so much as looking where he went. If any passers by gave him strange looks, walking around with bloody bandages and wearing only a sweater and sweatpants, he didn’t notice it. His mind kept going back to that afternoon at Breadstixx three years ago. He had thought of that conversation so much, especially the past days, always admiring how strong Blaine seemed, how easily he could talk about it. Like it was nothing. Kurt made a noise, somewhere between a scoff and a sob. It literally  _was_  nothing.

Without planning it, he found himself in front of a familiar door, just when his legs were about to buckle from the strain of walking. Too exhausted to care how it looked to turn up unexpected like this, he pressed the buzzer.

“Yeah?” a voice crackled through the intercom.

“Elliott…can I come up?” Kurt asked, not sure what he would do if Elliott would say now was a bad time. But the door immediately unlocked, and he pushed it open with his elbows. Elliott was already out of his door, meeting him halfway up the stairs to his apartment.

“Kurt, what happened?” he asked, taking in his friend’s appearance.

Kurt just shook his head, not wanting to have this conversation on the stairs, and gratefully accepted Elliott’s supporting arms under his to help him inside. He shivered as Elliott’s hands radiated warmth through his sweater and he realised how cold he had become outside without his jacket. Elliott led him to the couch, grabbed a blanket from the chair nearby, and wrapped it around Kurt.

“Your hands…” he said, “do you want something…ice?”   
  
Kurt shook his head again. He hugged the blanket closer around his shoulders.

Elliott said down next to him and rubbed his back. “Do you want to tell me?” he asked carefully.

Kurt swallowed. “I just found out that Blaine has been lying to me all along,” he said, fixating his eyes on the pattern of the floorboards of Elliott’s living room. Bit by bit, the story tumbled out, and as he spoke, Elliott grew more and more agitated.

“What the hell?!” he let out angrily, before realising his outburst had made Kurt shrink back and retreat into the blanket further. “I’m sorry,” he quickly added, visibly trying to calm himself. “But to lie about something like that just to get your sympathy…”

"Actually, it was his excuse not to go on a public date with me," Kurt said with a crisp edge in his voice that belied how he really felt.

Elliott’s jaw dropped. “You know, if this was anyone else, I’d say I didn’t believe it, but since it’s Blaine, I actually do,” he said. “Did you know what he said when I called to ask why you missed One Three Hill rehearsal that Friday? That you were  _busy_. Not a word about what happened. I didn’t find out you’d been in the hospital until Dani told me!”

“The first days were a bit of a blur-” Kurt started defensively, but Elliott shook his head.

“No, I don’t mean  _you_  should have told me, Kurt,” he hurried to assure him. “But I literally asked him if you were okay and he said yes. What’s wrong with that guy? Was he angry you had stolen his thunder, or what?”

Kurt just smiled sadly and shrugged. Before this, he would have tried to defend Blaine, to think of something that would explain Blaine’s choices, but now? He didn’t even know where to start anymore- or why he should bother. For the last three years, he had excused everything Blaine did because of his past. He tried to be understanding when Blaine refused to kiss him at school and would only hold hands in Glee club. PDAs with another guy had gotten him bashed, after all. He never said anything when Blaine tried to get closer to the other guys, or sang most of his duets with Rachel. He knew it was all part of his public persona for school so he could stay safe. Even if Blaine never actually pretended to be straight, he did try to appear as ‘non-threateningly’ gay as he could, and as a reward, he never got slushied, insulted or made to take a dumpster-dive. It was all understandable, given his background.

Only that his background had been a lie.

Kurt suddenly saw everything Blaine had done in high school for what it was: a completely self-serving attempt to be popular (and to great success, if his lead in West Side Story, his senior class presidency or becoming valedictorian were any indication). And it meant something else too.

Blaine hadn’t kept himself out of the attack in the alley because he had been triggered, paralysed with memories of his youth. He had simply been afraid. He talked a lot about ‘courage’ and confronting your bullies (something that, in retrospect, had been quite dangerous advice for Kurt in high school), but when it had really mattered, when he had had the chance to prove that courage, he had hid and let Kurt take the fall.

"He founded a fight club at his old school, you know," Kurt said bitterly. "You’d think that after that, he might have tried to lend a hand when I was attacked… All I ever did was ballet and dance bootycamp."

Elliott frowned. “As much as I hate to defend him, fear is driven by instinct,” he said carefully. “I think most of us, with or without lies in our past, would have been too afraid to do anything.”

Kurt sighed. He knew Elliott was right, but this new perspective on the attack opened such a wide range of new “what if”s… He could feel tears starting to well up again. “I just can’t stop thinking…if he had helped me, maybe-” He broke off and shook his head. He sounded like his dad. He didn’t want to blame Blaine for Kitt’s death, even if he no longer had a better excuse than any if the strangers on the street. He took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly.

"After I got back from the hospital," he said, "I felt like Blaine was the only one I could talk to. The only one who’d understand how terrified I had been, but also how angry. Angry at the men attacking Kitt and me, angry at the apathy of the people passing by. Anger at my own helplessness, my failure."

Elliott winced, but didn’t interrupt.

"I said a lot of horrible things. I didn’t want to burden anyone with it, not even Blaine, but I figured at least he’d understand because he’d been through it." Kurt swallowed thickly. "He had so many opportunities to tell me the truth. I asked him to tell me his story so often, looking for some kind of clue how he could have gotten over it, how he had come out of that with his mind intact. I felt it back then, that he was different. That he didn’t feel as torn, as powerless and twisted as I did inside. But I just thought-" Kurt broke off and looked away, knowing he needed to say it but not able to look at his friend while confessing it, "that he was better at it. That being a survivor rather than a victim was just one more thing he was beating me at."

"Oh, Kurt," Elliott whispered, reaching out to reel him in within his big arms. "You’re ten times the man he is."

Kurt let out a humourless laugh. “Can you go back in time for me and tell everyone that? Ever since I’ve met him, Blaine has been the one to get the admiration, the solos, the friends… the love. He’s always been leading man material, and me just the sidekick.”

"Certainly not to me," Elliott assured him, "and not to Dani either. Blaine is an immature school boy. You, on the other hand, are the leader of our band." He rubbed a hand over Kurt’s back, and Kurt smiled a little.

"If I had known you were feeling this way I would have come by your place instead of calling," Elliott added. "But I thought your switched off phone was a sign you needed rest, not company."

Kurt sat up from where he had been leaning into Elliott’s embrace. “My phone hasn’t been switched off,” he said, frowning a little. “My dad insisted I keep it on at all times so he can check up on me.”

Elliott looked at him in surprise. “I called a few times last week. I think Dani said she tried too. It always rung once and then went to voicemail. I left you a few messages, didn’t you get those?”

Kurt took out his phone. No missed calls or messages. He scrolled to Elliott’s number. “It’s blocked,” he said, looking up Dani’s number. Hers too. “I didn’t do this,” he assured Elliott. Not on purpose anyway. Had his finger slipped while he was on those heavy painkillers those first days? He opened the list of all blocked numbers and saw one more familiar name. Adam. Suddenly he realised what happened. There was only one person who knew the access code to his phone. It felt like a blow to the face and he sat back against the couch, lowering his phone.

"Blaine blocked you guys and my ex-boyfriend," he said quietly. "It’s not the first time he has gone through my phone."

"What?!" Elliott let out, rising to his feet. "That’s crazy! The guy is a psychopath! First he lies to you, then he cuts you off from your friends…" His eyes grew wide as he thought of something else. “Kurt, be honest with me. Has he hurt you? Made you do something you didn’t want to do?”

  
“No. No, of course not,” Kurt replied immediately, but as soon as the words left his mouth he could tell Elliott was not convinced.

“That’s it,” his friend said. “You’re staying here. I’ll call Dani, have her pick up some of your stuff at the loft. She said she still has Santana’s key. I’m not letting that guy anywhere near you again.”

Kurt closed his eyes tightly, but he couldn’t help the tears from spilling out. He didn’t want to see Blaine, especially not now, but hearing Elliott talk like that hurt. His teenage dream was falling apart. Blaine was his fiancé. They were going to have a fairytale wedding, adopt babies, be the next NPH and David…

“Hey, hey, come on. You’ll be okay,” Elliott said gently, crouching down in front of him and putting his hands on Kurt’s knees. “You are the most amazing guy I’ve met here. I knew it as soon as I auditioned for your band. You’re nobody’s sidekick, Kurt Hummel. And you’re gonna get through this, and be even more awesome because of it.”

Kurt choked out a laugh. Yeah. He knew he would. This wasn’t the first time life had thrown him into the deep end, and he had always come out stronger. It just didn’t feel like it right now.

  
“I should call Sam,” he said, wiping the tears off his cheeks. “I sort of ran out on him earlier. I don’t want him to worry.” As Elliott gave him a doubtful look, he added: “I won’t tell him where I am. Just that I’m okay. Sam’s a nice guy. I don’t want Blaine to blame him.”

“He’s the model, right?” Elliott asked. “With the abs and the…lips?”

Kurt nodded. “He brought back tons of clothes from his photoshoot last week and said I could have them. He could have sold them, but-” He smiled and his eyes lit up a little. “There’s this jacket, you have to see it. It needs refitting of course, which will… take a while-” He held up his hands. “But it’s gonna be fabulous.”

Elliott smiled as well, Kurt’s enthusiasm infective. Then he gave him a shy look. “I could… help? If you want. I mean, I know you disapprove of my designs but I do have the basics down with the sewing machine…? Shall I tell Dani to bring it?”

  
It was Kurt’s turn to blush a little now. “I don’t disapprove of your designs. I  _may_  have said that because I was jealous. Your Starchild outfit looked amazing.”

Elliott beamed. “Do you wanna try it on?” he asked. “The hat at least. You could totally rock it.”

“I don’t know…” Kurt started.

“Yeah, come on. “I’ll go get it while you call Sam, and then I’ll glam you up, baby.” He gave Kurt an exaggerated wink.

Kurt laughed. “Alright,” he agreed. “Let’s do it.”

*

Kurt startled at the energetic rapping on the door. He had been toying with his phone— touching the tip to the arm of Elliott’s couch, sliding his fingers down, and then flipping it over and repeating the process— for quite a while. Dressing up with Elliott had been fun for a bit, but now that Elliott was in the kitchen making dinner, Kurt was once again left to his own thoughts. He was still emotionally  _wrung out_  from yesterday, and now he had all of this…  _stuff_ filling up his head. What Blaine had  _done_ , who he even  _was_ , what this meant for the both of them. Lies, manipulation, cutting him off from his friends.

This  _stuff._  When Kurt really let himself settle, it only made him feel more tired, and disgusted. He wanted to feel sad. Sadness would indicate some hope that the ties between them had been real to begin with, but… Maybe Blaine had doubts back then for a reason.

But then Dani appeared. Santana had once told him that they’d sung “Here Comes the Sun” together, and he could see the symbolism in that. It was like sunshine had just flooded into the room. Well, blue-haired sunshine, who happened to be carrying Kurt’s suitcase and the trunk from under his bed along with some bags, and accepting a kiss from Elliott before dropping most of it and hurrying over with a plastic shopping bag in hand. They’d asked her to collect a few things from the loft so Kurt didn’t have to return right away, since she still had an extra key from when she’d been dating Santana.

She pushed her lips into a pout and pulled up a chair. “God. My _fucking_ God _._ ” She looked back at Elliott with an outraged shake of the head and her tongue pressed into her cheek (sort of the way Kurt used to look at Mercedes about Rachel), and then sat by him as her expression softened. “Blaine made it out like you’d gotten a few boo-boos falling off your bike!”

Dani reached for Kurt’s hands, and almost instinctively, Kurt let her hold them in her own.

“So much for guitar practice for a while, huh?” She gave him a little smile, then reached into the bag. “I used to work at a vet’s. I got this.”

“Am I a wounded kitty?”

“Yeah.” She took one of his hands and slowly started to pull back the bandages. “Sorry, my dear Kittykurt. You may need to be rehomed. As long as you can stand everything smelling like curry.”

“I don’t make curry that much!” Elliott protested. He was in the kitchen area and looked up from the vegetables he was chopping.

“Yuh-huh. Then whatcha makin’ in there, Starchild the Giant?” she teased.

Elliott chopped silently for a moment. “ _Comfort food_.”

The two of them laughed. Kurt winced.

“Sorry!” Dani lifted Kurt’s hand and kissed the stitches. “The blood dried in a bad place. I’ll disinfect before I rewrap, okay?”

“It’s okay. This is gross. You don’t have to do it for me.”

“Lancing abscesses in cats is much more gross. Lots of puss. This is just blood. Promise, I’ve dealt with blood before.” She made a motion to tap the tip of his nose. “Most girls have.”

Kurt chuckled. These two should have their own comedy show. It was only a matter of time before she started talking about boobs.

Kurt’s phone rang, and he looked at it anxiously… But it wasn’t Blaine, or Sam, or Rachel, or even his dad (who he didn’t want to have to explain things to right now). It was  _Adam_. He’d unblocked his number less than an hour ago. He could have missed this call. He’d probably missed other calls from Adam.

No  _wonder_ Adam had thought Kurt wouldn’t want to see him. No wonder he had felt the need to apologize so much for the dissolution of their previous relationship, when Kurt kind of felt that taking the brunt of the blame for that was unreasonable. And he’d felt the need to bring baskets of apples. Acting like Kurt might respond negatively to the, frankly, extremely helpful and thoughtful act of making sure Kurt would still have his dream school. This was so ridiculously unfair to an almost impossibly nice guy.

He answered with the hand Dani wasn’t dabbing with peroxide. “Hey, Adam. I’m glad you called.”

“Hey!” Adam said brightly. “Sorry for all the calls, I was just… I know it’s silly, but I was a bit worried after the memorial. Because that must’ve been very emotionally taxing, really. I can’t imagine it not being, and I was worried you didn’t have someone, you know, after, to  _take care_ of those emotions.”

He was speaking so quickly that Kurt didn’t have time to reply. “Anyway, I shouldn’t have called so often, I know. I’m sure you just were busy getting back to work, and getting back to your  _life_ , and I know I can’t really be a part of that, but no- no, nevermind. Don’t worry about that. I just wanted to know that you were okay-”

“I’m not,” Kurt interrupted.

Adam went silent.

“Adam, you’re not overstepping, and I really  _am_  glad you called. Again. I would’ve answered, if I could. Blaine’s been in my phone again. He blocked some of my contacts, people I talk to about things, including you.”

Dani’s brows raised, and she turned to give Elliott another ‘can you  _believe_  this guy?’ look.

Kurt looked down at his hands, trying to decide what to tell Adam, how to explain. But in the end it wasn’t that hard. Adam naturally prompted him with questions, sounding concerned, but not judging in any way. Kurt answered. Their conversations had always been easy and natural, before. At one point, Adam’s voice grew thick, and Kurt knew he was doing that thing, that both of them could do. Actors and singers. He was crying, and not letting it close his throat.

“Can I see you?”

Dani had finished tending to Kurt’s hands, and she went to the suitcases to dig through.

“Maybe. Do you like curry?”

“I’m English,” he replied simply.

“There’ll be enough,” Elliott called. Which was generous of him, since there was no way he could know who Kurt was talking to. He just stood by the stove, stirring and tasting.

“If you want to come over, I’m staying with some friends. They’re not that far from the loft, actually.”

“I’ll be there,” he promised.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: assault, homophobic slurs, violence, dub-con, depression
> 
> A/N : We started this fic after discussions about the spoilers for ‘Bash’ and our suspicions that Glee would handle the plot badly and leave no on-screen time for Kurt to come to terms with the attack. This fic is not for Blaine/Klaine fans.
> 
> Chapter Note: Cookies and curry :)

**KURT**

“I told Elliott last week we needed to sneak up into the loft and steal you away for practice,” Dani said as she spooned hot rice from the rice cooker into several black and red glass bowls.

“I don’t know how well I’d do. I haven’t sung in…” Kurt shook his head. “I don’t even know. I shared a song with one of the girls at Spotlight the night before the alley.”

“It’ll be a grand One-Three comeback,” Elliott said with a laugh. He leaned over and sprinkled something in the large pot of curry on the stove.

Kurt shrugged and drew in a deep breath. Then he rubbed a hand over his rumbling stomach and realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a full meal. He cast a glance into the kitchen and wondered what kind of utensils he’d have to navigate for this wonderful meal that Elliott had prepared for them.

The buzzer from downstairs sounded, and Dani bounded over to the intercom, where Adam greeted them with an “Uh, hullo?” Then he was on his way up, and Kurt felt his cheeks growing warm. His heart was beating more quickly, and Kurt couldn’t identify the source of his anxiety. Maybe Adam seeing him even more battered than before? Maybe that was it?

When Kurt heard the rap on the door, Adam’s familiar, off-beat rap, he rose from the couch, ignoring his sore legs and moved towards the door. Dani and Elliott were setting up the table, and she hurried over quickly to grab the doorknob, giving Kurt a look for risking his stitches again so soon. So he stepped back, smiling just a little at her annoyance and care.

And then there was Adam, with a tupperware tub of cookies under one arm, and a floppy stuffed frog in the other hand. He was wearing a shawl of multiple colors, but mostly purple and blue with some flex of orange, and worn blue jeans, and a loose vest over a lavender long-sleeved shirt. He looked half put together, and he surveyed the apartment quickly, making a deliberate effort not to look at Kurt’s hands. It was odd, because Adam was the least likely person to avoid facing things right in front of him.

  
“Yea-us. Cookies.” Dani took them with a big grin and went to put them on the counter.

“Aw, man. That’s so cool. You didn’t have to.” Elliott waved.

“I’d already baked them, I just ah, didn’t really, want to come empty handed. I’m Adam.”

“Dani!” Dani chimed.

“Elliott. I’d come shake your hand, man, but I’m still curry-encrusted. Gotta wash up.” He motioned toward the couch. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks.” Adam turned to look at Kurt, who continued to stand there, staring at him and his big stupid stuffed frog. Adam swallowed. His cheeks were growing red, and his eyes a little wet, and his breaths came a little more shakily. And Kurt now knew why Adam, for once, was unsure if he could handle the truth of what he saw.

“Hey, there.” Kurt stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Adam’s waist. Adam’s arms squeezed tightly around him, and the frog squished between them.  “I’ll be okay,” Kurt said softly. “It’s  _gonna_  be okay. Eventually.”

“You  _will._ ” There was a wobble in Adam’s normally calm voice.

Kurt had only intended the hug to last for a moment, but he was reluctant to let go. Adam pressed his forehead to Kurt’s, as he rubbed up and down his back with one hand, and Kurt closed his eyes with a sigh. It felt so incredibly  _good_  to be held like this, tight and secure, to be rocked slightly.

He swayed a little, and Adam took his weight easily, but looked at him with alarm.

“I strained something yesterday at the shoot. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it until this morning,” Kurt explained.

“Adrenaline,” Adam surmised. He kept a hold of Kurt and walked with him back the couch.

“Valium,” Kurt countered. He caught sight of Dani and Elliott exchanging a look between one another, and wondered what it was about. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for the invite. And for having me,” Adam said, turning to Elliott.

“Naw, man. The more the merrier. I mean, the place is kind of a shoebox.” Elliott shrugged.

“What’s the name of your cute friend there, bro?” Dani asked.

“Hm? Oh.” Adam held the plush creature up and looked it in the face. “I’m not really sure. I’d though Francois, but that’s a bit pointed, don’t you think?”

“Jacques,” Kurt said in his well-practiced accent. “Or Monsieur ‘Oppy.”

Adam held the frog in front of his face and said in a low, nasal French accent, “My ass iz twitching. You  _people_  make my ass twitch.”

Kurt threw his head back in laughter. Adam bunched his brows together, and then continued with more of Kevin Kline’s licentious French man lines from his romcom with Meg Ryan  _French Kiss._ They had watched it together one rainy day after Kurt had gotten off the phone with his father and hadn’t been able to think about anything but the cancer.

It had seemed so unfair, back then, for Adam to have to deal with Kurt trying to get over his ex, and coping with his father’s illness, and trying to adjust to his new life in New York. Kurt was no less of a mess  _now_. He wasn’t over losing Finn (and couldn’t pretend he would ever be), plus the attack, plus the Blaine wreckage 2.0…

It really  _wasn’t_  fair to Adam to let him come in and pick Kurt up once more. Especially after how things had gone the last time. Kurt should know better, by now, about history repeating itself. With Blaine, with McKinley, with Rachel. No one ever really seemed to change. Except maybe, his dad, and Finn.

Adam stopped fooling around with the impression as he saw the smile fading from Kurt’s face. Then he hopped the frog over to Kurt’s lap, and Kurt hugged the soft, fuzzy thing, while Adam rubbed his back.

“You’re great,” Kurt whispered.

Adam shrugged, and smiled, a little wistfully. “Just trying to keep up.”

“I’m a disaster.”

“Yeah, but you’re a cute one,  _and_  you in fact kick ass, and you’re our leader.” Dani came over, holding two hot bowls, with dish towels underneath. “So you’re kind of like Sailor Moon.”

Elliott laughed.

“I’m not sure what that means?” Kurt tilted his head to the side as he watched Dani set the food on the floor. No table room. He slowly lowered himself below the couch and Adam caught his arm and helped him down.

“She’s ridiculous,” Elliott teased, looking at her as he came over with two more bowls. “Get the pitcher, huh?”

“Can I help?” Adam asked.

Elliott pointed to the kitchen, and in a few minutes, they’d set up their floor picnic. Kurt smiled in relief as Dani handed around forks, even though Elliott was eating with chopsticks. The fork would be enough of a challenge.

“You and your curry addiction,” Dani said, eyeing Elliott.

“I do not… oh. Sorry, man.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking. Well, I mean, I was thinking, but the thought was mostly: Food. Y’know?”

“I think I can manage…” Kurt pinched the flat handle with the tips of his fingers and stabbed a piece of potato then angled it up towards his mouth. It was awkward, but at least it didn’t hurt. “If you don’t mind my taking three hours to eat.”

Apparently no one did. The four of them sat together picking at what was really an excellent massaman curry with vegetables, tofu, and crunchy peanuts on top of jasmine rice. Kurt wasn’t sure if they were eating slowly on purpose, or so engaged in sharing stories that they were legitimately distracted. Adam seemed keen on getting caught up with what Elliott was doing with the band and at NYU, where Adam had apparently applied for a job there after graduation, but it had fallen through. Dani filled them in on the “Amazon” she was now dating, and they discussed future plans for the band.

Kurt wasn’t thrilled at the notion of anyone filling in for him, but he gave them the name of a girl from the diner who he thought might be able to sing his part for an upcoming gig they’d already committed to. He wanted to make sure that she knew it wasn’t an ongoing opportunity, however. He’d had enough of dealing with a band that had too many leads, and all of their pieces were arranged for trios. It would be exhausting to make another change.

“There are a couple of arrangements for duos in the folder you picked up,” Kurt pointed to his suitcase. “So maybe you could pull in a trio for a song or two and then sing yourselves. You both have unique voices.” Kurt poked his rice around in the sauce before getting it onto his fork. “You should hear them, Adam. They’re out of this world.”

“I think our band is pretty awesome. When we get Kurt back, you’ll have to come to a gig,” Elliott said casually. He rose to refill glasses with water.

Adam seemed eager to hear them together. So eager, in fact, that after Elliott and Dani had moved the dishes back into the kitchen, they’d both grabbed their guitars and started to strum. Kurt motioned to his throat anxiously. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sing, although his throat didn’t hurt quite as much as it had. Now it just sometimes felt like a little pressure at the bottom of his neck.

“I knooow,” Elliott started in his loud rocker wail.

“That’s it’s time for a change,” Dani joined in, then eyed Kurt and patted his leg.

“But when that change comes,” Kurt tried. His voice was a little weak, but he hit the pitch alright.

“Will it still feel the same?” The three of them settled into the arrangement. Adam bobbed his head as he watched the three of them. Elliott and Dani jammed on their guitars, and Kurt worked out the beat with his hands on the floor.

“I’m not goin’ back to you anymore,” Kurt sang. “My weakened heart is healing, though very slow. So stop comin’ around my door, ‘cause you’re not gonna find, what you’re looking for!”

Kurt had to focus on keeping his voice steady, and toward the end of the number, he let Dani and Elliott take over, because he got too tired. It was fine, though. His solo on this one was early in the song. They tended to save the rocker screaming for Elliott because he liked to do it. And Kurt hadn’t been practicing every day the way he used to, so a more aggressive number he probably couldn’t have delivered on.

But he would again. Slowly build that strength back up. Get back to NYADA. Start booking with the band again. It probably wouldn’t, after all, feel like getting back to normal. But he could start figuring out what normal would be like from now on. He was just sure, for the first time, that this version of normal wouldn’t include Blaine in any way.

*

**BLAINE**

Blaine paced back and forth. His hair and clothes were a wreck. He hadn’t been able to settle since he’d gotten home. They’d scoured the neighborhood like a couple calling for their lost cat, but found Kurt nowhere. He wasn’t answering his phone, and Sam kept saying he didn’t know where Kurt had gone.

There were a lot of things going on in Blaine’s head. First among his thoughts was the possibility that Kurt was out there, on his own, and would probably have another episode and get himself hurt even worse. He’d gotten his hands jacked up working at  _Vogue._  Out on the street, he’d probably run into a car, or someone would see him spazzing out by himself and mug him. He could seriously not make it. That was an option.

He also had a nagging worry that Kurt wasn’t lost at all. He just didn’t want Blaine to find him.

When they’d gotten back to the loft, Blaine had noticed some things moved around, and when he went into the bathroom, some stuff was just gone. They’d checked their valuables, and Sam had finally come to the conclusion that either Kurt had come back, or he’d sent someone to get stuff for him.

At that point, Blaine just starting yelling. Sam had no right to step in the way he had. He’d ruined everything. Now, Kurt was God knew where, and he was emotionally upset, and Blaine didn’t know how to get Kurt to forgive him. This was the  _worst_ way for Kurt to find out.

Then, eventually, Sam left. He didn’t slip out, and he didn’t scream back. He just started packing his stuff and told Blaine that he could yell at someone else.

“You should’ve told him, dude. He was suffering. A  _lot_. You shouldn’t have let him think you had the answers when you didn’t, and you should’ve paid a lot more attention to him,” Sam said in a flat voice as he started stuffing things into a bag.

“I was with him day and night!”

“And he needed someone!” Sam snapped finally. “So if you couldn’t do it? You’re supposed to  _love_  him. You need to man up and admit it, so Kurt can have someone around who can help him! But you don’t care about that! You care about yourself, and being right, and you care about your day being fun way more than you care about Kurt!”

“How dare you? You don’t get to say that to me! It’s not  _true_!”

“Whatever, bro.” Sam shifted his bag onto his shoulder. “I’m gonna go stay with some of the model guys I know. I’ll let you know if I hear from Kurt.”

And then he was gone.

*

So Blaine was alone, for hours. He wanted to just try to relax, but he couldn’t. Twin worries plagued him: Was Kurt out there getting panicked and more damaged, or was he actually just somewhere actively being mad at Blaine? And all over this a stupid lie he’d made up to keep from things moving too fast with this peppy little countertenor he’d only been friends with for a little while. It was absolutely impossible for him to focus on anything else.

When Rachel appeared, cheeks flushed and eyes like stars, she went to the kitchen for a cold drink and started going on about how a few of her costars were  _Interested_ in her, but it was all too much to be thinking about while she was working on “perfecting her Fanny.”

“Rachel, I can’t deal with you huge, huge, huge,  _huge_ ego right now!” Blaine exploded.

Rachel turned, holding her raspberry spritzer aloft and looking at Blaine with disbelief. “Rude! Rude, Blaine.”

She took a piece of ice and rolled it along her brow. “I work myself to the brink every day, and when I get home, all I ask for is a little-”

“Servitude?” Blaine rolled his eyes. “Not today, Rachel. Do you even know what happened yesterday?” He thought for a second. “Has Kurt called you?”

“No.” She pulled out a dish from the refrigerator and sniffed it. “I haven’t. And I can’t take him tonight. I’m sorry! I have to meet someone for drinks.”

“Well, watch those mojitos. Don’t want to be popping out of your costume while forgetting the words to ‘Don’t Rain on My Parade.’” Blaine mimed jazz hands.

“I am  _not_ going to forget the words. I can’t believe you’d even  _say_  that.” Rachel set a container down and then knocked on the counter. “What is wrong with you?”

“Kurt had a breakdown yesterday, and you don’t even know about it! And he’s out there now, alone, and I don’t have any idea where he is, and all you can do is talk about your Fanny!”

“I- What? Where is Kurt now?” She set abandoned her foraging and came closer.

“I told you. I don’t  _know_. And with the panic attack he had at work yesterday, he could be _dead_ , or just so panicked somewhere that he can’t come out.” Blaine felt himself crumpling and went over to the couch to hang his head in his hands. He had no idea what his next step was to find Kurt and fix this.

Rachel came to sit by him and rubbed her hand along his back. “Kurt’s not helpless. He’ll come home, when he can. He’s probably just feeling smothered here. He’s used to being independent. That’s all.”

“Are you not hearing me?” Blaine looked up. “He’s not ready. He can’t do it on his own.”

Rachel pulled out her phone and dialed. She stood, paced, and then left a cheerfully worried sounding message. Then she hit end and made a few more calls.

“He’s not with Artie, or anyone I know at the diner… I know he has some acquaintances via Vogue… I’m not sure-” She paused and tapped her phone against her lips. “We’ll just have to wait. If Kurt doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be. How bad was this ‘panic attack’?”

“Isabelle took him to the hospital. He cut up his hands.”

Now Rachel looked alarmed. “Like with a  _knife_?!”

“No. With… a vase. He saw something that reminded him of…”

“Of what he’s been through. Yeah. That happened sometimes, you know, when we were in high school. He’s been through a lot, and being reminded of it…” Rachel hugged herself and shrugged. “He doesn’t even talk about what happened to his mother.”

Blaine frowned, trying to understand what connection her words had to the current problem of “Find Kurt.” “This isn’t a reaction from getting teased at school.”

“No, and he never did have much of a traumatized reaction to being called names, but he did jump at loud noises sometimes, and stopped eating, and he gets jittery around hospitals. It adds up.” She sighed and walked back into the kitchen for her drink. “I’ll keep calling. He’s turned off his phone, though. It goes straight to voicemail.”

Blaine felt his stomach drop. Turning his phone off showed  _intent_  to not be around people.

“I have to get ready, but my advice is to spend some time with Sam, relax, and Kurt will come around when he’s ready.”

She took a plate with her and gave him a pat on her way past her privacy curtain.

*

After giving a quick walk around the neighborhood one more time, and picking up some goodies from the bakery around the block (nothing like luring a stray home with cheesecake… if the stray would pick up his stupid phone), Blaine sat by himself, again, on the couch.

He could go to bed. It was late enough. But Blaine felt strange about going into their bed without Kurt in it. Instead, he turned on the television, watched for a few minutes restlessly, and then went to the kitchen and picked up the bag of pastries to take back with him to nibble on.

He was enjoying quite the sugar high when his phone rang. Blaine licked cream off of his fingers and quickly looked to see who was calling. He heaved a sigh, then answered.

“Hi, Burt.”

“Hey, kiddo. I’ve been tryin’ to get a hold of Kurt for hours, but I’m not getting through. Is he around? Did his phone get turned off in his pocket or somethin’?”

Blaine’s face crumpled, and in a surge of words and panic, he unloaded everything. How much Kurt was struggling, the incident at Vogue, their fight, Kurt disappearing… almost everything.

“Okay, okay. Just… Alright, so you haven’t seen him since, when, exactly? This morning?” Burt made a disgruntled noise. “Too soon to send out a police search. I can try some numbers Rachel might not have. And uh… try to stay calm. Y’know, he might’ve gotten stuck somewhere, and you’ve gotta give Kurt some credit. He’s a survivor. He’s always taken care of things-”

“No, you don’t understand! This is different. He’s different.” Blaine curled up into a ball against the matching cushions and admitted, “I don’t know what to do. What if he doesn’t come back?”

“Blaine, I know my son. He loves you like crazy. He’ll come back to you. As soon as he’s able, he’ll come back to you. He wouldn’t be making you suffer like this if there was any way he could help it, okay? You just trust in what you two have got. It’s something special.”

Blaine nodded miserably. He wanted to believe that Burt was right, even not knowing everything that had gone on between him and Kurt. Kurt would come back. And he would be sorry for running off. And then Blaine could make him see how sorry  _he_  was, too. Afterward, Kurt would get better, and they  _would_ have their happily ever after.

*

**KURT**

It was dark and everyone moved strangely, but the blows kept coming anyway. Blow after blow, Kurt tried to push them away to no avail. A hand began to close off his airway, and he scrambled to pry the strong fingers away, to pull himself away.

He looked around for someone, anyone to help him, and there was Kitt, sitting by his side in a fabulous midnight blue suit. He took Kurt’s hand and looked up at his attackers with wickedly fierce eyes, and the dark figures disappeared.

“Honey, you’re gonna be okay,” Kitt said. “You’re strong, and you can do this. You just gotta wake up. Wake up, sweetie. You can do this.”

Kurt opened his eyes to Elliott’s bedroom. He saw his ‘axe.’ He saw the band posters on the wall. He saw Dani sitting next to him, holding his hand, and whispering that he would be okay. He gripped the sheets on his other side and tried to make his lungs take in air.

“Do you want to take something?”

“It, um, the Ambien takes a while to kick in. The V-valium’s for anxiety.”

“Which… you have? Right? I mean, I’m not going to force you or anything. I could make tea instead. You know us: We  _tea_ ,” she said with a pump of her fist. “But just let me know, if you want it.”

“I can manage.”

“I know. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with getting help, even temporarily.” She shrugged. “My gynie prescribed me  _Prozac._ Well, the cheap-ass version. I hated it. I mean, I cried less, but then I got these  _really_ creepy dreams. Like, children crawling around in a maze and then  _eating each other_  creepy. I stopped taking it. Musicians are socially allowed to be a little unbalanced.”

Kurt pushed himself up on his elbows. A large chunk of his friends were girls, but Rachel never told him “gynie” stories. “Your gynecologist prescribed you mood-altering pills?”

Dani spread her hands and made a confused grimace. “I dunno! Lady parts are complicated. Also, I had insurance with her and she didn’t think she could get me to a psych. The point is, PMDD gets consideration for that kind of thing. You take birth control despite being a lesbian to manage hormones, and you take mood meds to keep your brain chemistry even. Drugs are just, y’know, a tool. But not the only one.”

Kurt picked up Jacques the frog and smiled at her.

“So I think you should give yourself a pass when you survive something really, really stressful. I had a friend in school who was on medication because he was bullied so bad. He like  _jumped_  whenever he heard lockers slamming or loud noises, it was that bad. And to get better, he just… Your doctors sometimes decide your brain needs a rest.”

“But you didn’t listen to your doctor,” Kurt pointed out.

“I think as the  _owners_  of the brain, we get to decide if the side effects are worth it?” Dani tilted her head to the side. “So they can tell you, hey take this and feel less panicked, okay? And you can be like, okay, I tried it, and it’s not for me.” She purse her lips and made a stamping motion. “Vetoed!”

That last bit had been a bit loud, apparently. Adam peeked his head into the room, his brows knit together in concern.

“Are you alright?”

“Je vais bien,” Kurt said through Jacques. “J’ai juste eu un mauvais rêve.”

Dani shook her head and shrugged.

“I think he just ordered the fish,” Adam said with a troubled smile. He came over to Kurt’s bedside and took Jacques. “I don’t think he’s doing his job, if you’re having bad dreams.”

“You’re thinking of dream catchers, not frogs,” Kurt replied softly. He wished the way his heart wouldn’t stop surging was just due to Adam’s proximity.

“Oh, yes, my mistake. Sorry, Jacques.”

“Tea? I keep some of my Special Tea in Elliott’s cupboard.” She rose and smoothed her hands over her pajama bottoms. “The stuff is like super chamomile.”

“Special as in…” Adam held his hand out and wobbled it from side to side. “Special?”

“Nooo! It’s just got other stuff, too. Passionflower, rosemary leaf, English lavender flower…” She pointed her hands like guns at Kurt. “Catnip.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. “Shouldn’t that just make me crazy and stoned?”

“S’what we’re goin’ for.” She bounced on her toes.

“Sure. Sure, let’s tea.” Kurt curled his legs up to him and took a deep breath. After that dream, he was going to be strung out with his pulse racing all night. Maybe tomorrow, too, and he needed to stay calm tomorrow. “And could you… um, could you also get me my pills from the trunk?”

Dani snapped her fingers and bobbed her head before going.

“Elliott snores like a buzzsaw,” Adam said casually.

Kurt covered his mouth and shook in laughter.

“So, you know. If you have a problem, or need somewhere else to stay. I know some people. Don’t feel like you don’t have options, okay?”

“Okay.” Kurt licked his lower lip and sucked on it.

Dani returned with the tea and his pills, and he took half of one to avoid the weird feeling associated with it. They sat with him for a long time, until he was relaxed and sleepy and more than ready to doze off. And if Elliott didn’t sleep like the dead, Kurt mused, he would be right there too, offering a sense of cool earthiness to their little midnight party.

It felt strange, almost a little too self-indulgent, to enjoy having this small group of friends mothering him and spending all their energy making him feel better about himself. A small part of Kurt was still waiting to be presented with the bill at the end of the day- a tally of favours they had done him that he’d need to return or be forever apologetically grateful for. Some of this was due to Blaine, but it wasn’t like Rachel or his other high school friends were very good at altruism. In the end, sleepovers and heart-to-hearts (and even cheer-up songs) always ended up being about them rather than Kurt. But right now, Kurt filed away all doubts about their motives and guilt about taking up time and space and simply accepted the love his new friends gave him. If there was a bill to pay, he’d deal with that later.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: assault, homophobic slurs, violence, dub-con, depression
> 
> A/N : We started this fic after discussions about the spoilers for ‘Bash’ and our suspicions that Glee would handle the plot badly and leave no on-screen time for Kurt to come to terms with the attack. This fic is not for Blaine/Klaine fans.
> 
> Chapter Note: In which Kurt finally confronts Blaine... boom.

**KURT**

Kurt gave Elliott and Dani a nervous look, puffed out a breath, and dialled Blaine’s number. Adam had excused himself, volunteering to start on the dishes from their breakfast and making a little more noise than necessary. Kurt didn’t have to wait long for Blaine to pick up.

"Kurt! Where are you?!" Blaine sounded very annoyed and a little worried. "Sam wouldn’t tell me."

"That’s because Sam doesn’t know," Kurt replied. "I’m at Elliott’s."

Blaine’s reaction didn’t surprise him. “Elliott?? Why, what- …are you two…? Is this some kind of revenge?”

"I just needed to be with friends for a while." Kurt looked at his band members. "I would have called them, but their numbers appeared to be blocked." Dani smirked and gave him two thumbs up.

"Kurt, please come back to the loft. Sam told me what happened. I think we should talk-"

"No." Kurt’s voice was clear and resolute.

Blaine was shocked into silence for a few seconds. “But we need to talk-” he tried again.

"We do," Kurt agreed. "You can come to Elliott’s. I’ll text you the address."

Kurt could hear Blaine sigh. “Come on, Kurt. We won’t have any privacy there,” he pleaded.

"You had more than enough chances to talk about this with me in private, Blaine. But I had to hear it from Sam instead!" He straightened his shoulders and raised his chin. Blaine couldn’t see his posture, but it would carry over in his voice. "You can come here, or not. It’s up to you." He glanced at Elliott. His friend nodded at him in encouragement. He had been adamant that Kurt meet Blaine at his place to keep an eye on him.

"Okay," Blaine said, sounding uncharacteristically timid. It reminded Kurt of the time they had hooked up during their break-up. It was the kind of ‘okay’ that was supposed to be appeasing but really meant Blaine was already hacking out his own plan in his mind. It was the headspace that turned ‘we’re just friends’ into ‘we were meant to be together’. Kurt wouldn’t be surprised if he turned up at Elliott’s doorstep with flowers and a serenade planned, expecting to win Kurt over. But not this time.

Kurt said goodbye and hung up, sending his prepared text with Elliott’s address to Blaine’s phone. Dani got up and hugged him carefully.

"Well done, little kitty. Now don’t forget to bring the claws out when he gets here."

Elliott laughed and mimed a Lady Gaga claw at Kurt, making a hissing noise.

Kurt pressed his lips together in a thin-lipped smile. Their support still felt a little overwhelming.

Dani picked up her bag and assured Kurt once again that he’d be okay, and that she’d make another trip to the loft any time if he needed anything. As she took her leave, Adam came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel.

"I think I should go as well," he said. "I imagine seeing me here would only make Blaine angry."

"But you don’t have to…" Kurt started, but trailed off as he realised Adam was right. It made him feel awful, however. Once again, Adam was more understanding than he needed to be.

"I’ll call you," Adam promised. "At least now I know you haven’t changed your number." He winked at Kurt, and his smile relit a tiny spark inside of Kurt.

He left, and it was just Kurt and Elliott now, waiting for Blaine to show up.

  
*

Even though Kurt was in no risk of starving, thanks to Elliott’s delicious curry the night before and a copious breakfast earlier, Kurt was nibbling on Adam’s cookies like he hadn’t eaten in days. It was a nervous habit, but since all of his clothes seemed a lot looser lately, he let himself indulge. The sugar helped and it gave him something to do while they waited.

Kurt was planning and phrasing things in his head, which he knew he was very likely to abandon as soon as Blaine stood in front of him. His fiancé had that effect on him. Before they got back together after the break-up, Kurt had prepared and rehearsed a whole list of arguments and fine print for Blaine to agree to at their picnic, terms and conditions of their new relationship, but even though he had given it a valiant try, Blaine had done what he always had; swooped in and taken over. A few days later, they were engaged. After that, any mention of Blaine’s faux-pas was met with eye-rolling, sighs and ‘not again’s’.

Kurt was determined not to let that happen now. He was done. There would be no singalong-apology to dance their troubles away this time. And Elliott was there as a back-up. They had talked about what Kurt wanted to say, so in case he couldn’t say it, Elliott would. It felt like a bit of a cop-out, but after Dani’s pep talk, Kurt had decided that he deserved a safety net. It was time he gave himself a break.

The doorbell rang, and Elliott gave Kurt a look, making doubly sure he was ready. Kurt nodded, stuffed a final piece of cookie into his mouth, and brushed the crumbs off his emerald green sweater. Elliott pressed the buzzer, unlocking the door at the apartment entrance. Kurt could feel his heart pound in his throat, syncing with the footsteps on the stairs. Elliott opened the door. Blaine came up to the doorstep and peered inside.

“Kurt, are you okay? I was so worried! How could you just leave like that? After what happened at Vogue…I spent hours looking for you! Did you have another… Are you _okay_?” he sputtered softly as he spotted him on the couch.

“I feel better,” Kurt said. “Come in.”

Blaine took a few hesitant steps inside and looked around in Elliott’s small apartment. Elliott closed the door behind him and strolled over to stand by the table, crossing his arms and pursing his lips. The door to the bedroom was open and Kurt’s bag sat on the bed. Kurt followed Blaine’s eyes there, saw them widen a little, and cut off whatever rant he was building up inside by a brief: “He slept on the couch.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Elliott added.

Blaine turned around, frowning. “I need to talk to Kurt  _alone_ ,” he said irritatedly.

“Yeah, well. It’s my place. So. I’m not leaving,” Elliott countered. His voice sounded casual but his eyes were dark and menacing, a world of difference from a few minutes earlier, when he had been babbling on about Adam, and how he thought he was a sweetheart but needed a bit of a makeover to show off his arms and chest more. (Kurt had secretly agreed.)

Blaine pressed his lips into a tight, nervous grimace and walked up to the couch. As he sat down, Kurt made room for him and crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his bandaged hands under his armpits.

Blaine shot a nervous glance at Elliott but didn’t object, clearly opting to pick his battles. He turned back to Kurt.

"Kurt, I love you. You’re everything to me; you have to understand that. A-and I’ve been thinking a lot. About us, about the attack, and why you just aren’t getting any better-"  Blaine’s words spilled out in a rush, sounding a little rehearsed.

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. “C-can you just stop? Can you… Can we just  _talk_ to each other? I don’t need speeches or declarations of  _love_.” The word tasted bitter in Kurt’s mouth, and he dipped his head for a moment, sadly, before looking into Blaine’s pleading eyes. “I need to know why you lied to me.”

Blaine, momentarily, had nothing to say. His eyes shifted around, anxiously.

"Dammit, Blaine," Kurt said in a near whisper. "If you didn’t want to go to the prom, why didn’t you just  _say so_? Did you ever really want to date me at all, or was it just convenient that I was gay and available?”

"It’s nothing like that!" Blaine replied irritatedly, shifting forward to reach for Kurt’s hand. Kurt pressed himself further back into the couch. Blaine noticed and let his hand drop. His eyes grew glossy and he shook his head. "You’re my soulmate! You know that. I just…I didn’t know that yet back then."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. “You seemed to be pretty sure of it when Pavarotti died.” From the corner of his eye, he could see Elliott cock his head. “The school’s canary I was taking care of,” he explained, “not the opera singer.”

"I was. I am! It was just… _prom_ , you know? I guess I got spooked.”

Kurt clenched his jaw. Even though Sam had already told him, Kurt could feel shame and humiliation wash over him again when he heard it from Blaine’s own mouth. He had been very much in love with Blaine back then, convinced that he was the one and only- and Blaine hadn’t even been sure enough of their relationship to want to go to a dance. It brought back familiar feelings of inadequacy, of just not being able to live up to people’s expectations of him. It hurt. He had always felt it was him and Blaine against the world, and now it felt like finding out he had been alone all along.

"If you had just  _told_  me,” he said, biting down on every word, “It would have hurt a lot less than it does now. Do you have any  _idea_ what I’ve been through over the past few weeks? I mean, of  _course_  you don’t, but… could you  _try_?!”

His careful control started to fall away. Feeling restless, he shifted in his seat and lowered his arms. No longer pinned beneath his biceps, his hands began shaking. He twisted his fingers, but a stab of pain reminded him that particular fidget was out, so he picked up Jacques and squeezed him tightly.

"Every day it was as though you were  _judging me_  for not healing right, not healing fast enough, for  _burdening you_ , and there I was thinking I was broken and that I would  _never_ be fixed because you got over it so  _easily_!”

"Are you blaming me for- I was there for you! I… I put your clothes on!"

Kurt scoffed. “For like a day. Then you made sure I knew I should do it myself.”

  
Blaine shook his head. “I wanted things to be easier for you. I knew how frustrated you were not being able to do those things yourself. Kurt, I listened to you for  _hours_.”

Kurt let out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah. You did. Until you got tired of it, and then you told me to shut up about it,” he said flippantly.

Blaine shot up and threw his hands in the air. “You just want to make me out to be this big monster! It’s not my fault you ran into that alley like a big dumb hero and nearly got yourself killed!”

"Whoa, whoa," Elliott held up his hands. "Let’s just chill this down, huh? Take it back to the rational level where you’re not blaming Kurt for what those assholes did  _to him_?”

Blaine glared at Elliott and started to grit his teeth in a way that was really a little unnerving. “I didn’t mean that,” he ground out. He swallowed, then looked back at Kurt with a softened expression. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”

Kurt shook his head. He didn’t want to keep escalating their drama here, but he had to be honest. He had to get these feelings out. They were eating him alive. “I don’t believe you,” he whispered.

He looked up to see Blaine’s face falling. Kurt felt tears threatening, and he took a long, slow breath as he squeezed the stuffing out of that frog.

"I think you’re just sorry I found out at all."

"No! That’s- I’m not!" Blaine sputtered, "I just  _knew_  you’d be like this!” He gestured at Kurt.

"Like what?" Kurt asked sharply, his eyes blazing.

"All…dramatic," Blaine replied. "Running off instead of talking to me about it. Spending the night at another guy’s place to get back at me…"

"Like you _talked_  to me when you were feeling so lonely in Ohio you had to sleep with someone else?” Kurt shot back. “At least  _I_  didn’t cheat on you.”

Blaine rolled his eyes and turned away from Kurt, shaking his head a little. “Why does it _always_ have to come back to that?” he asked exasperatedly.

"You really have no idea, do you?" Kurt said, moving his hands frenetically over Jacques, squeezing and petting. “You lied to me, Blaine. Not just once, but over and over! Every time I asked you about the attack at the Sadie Hawkins dance, you told me something else. Anything but the truth. And if you lied about that, how can I be sure that you didn’t lie about the cheating too? That it was just once. That you were  _safe_. That it wasn’t Sebastian-”

“Why are  _you_  so obsessed with Sebastian?” Blaine volleyed back, turning back to look at Kurt. “And can you  _please_  put that stupid toy down when I talk to you?”

“No, I can’t! Because unlike  _you_ , this stupid toy is actually helping me!” Kurt held it up and shook it. “It isn’t lying to me, or  _blaming_ me, or complaining about me to my friends behind my back! And like the person who gave it to me, it doesn’t expect any praise for putting up with me!”

“I’m  _not_  just- ! Who?” Blaine’s head snapped at Elliott, but Kurt quickly stopped him before he could round on his friend.

“Adam. Funny how people can call and support you after you’ve  _unblocked_ their numbers,” Kurt drawled.

“Adam?! I can’t believe this!” Blaine huffed. “You-”

“He gave me a  _frog_ , Blaine. It’s not like we jotted off to Atlantic City to be wed. I’m lucky he even still wanted to talk to me, after how I treated him.” Kurt found his finger raising and shaking at Blaine, like he was scolding a dog unable to mind. “And you don’t get to be angry at me for spending time with friends that you have  _invaded my privacy_  to cut me off from!”

He reached into his pocket and took out Blaine’s engagement ring. He hadn’t been able to wear it since the attack because of the splints, but he had kept it close like a talisman, like solid proof he was going to get his happy ending. He held it out to Blaine. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said. “The dream is over.”

Blaine’s eyes grew wide. “No, no, no! Kurt,  _please_!” He lunged forward, but there was Elliott, looming. Like a glam angel. Blaine shot Kurt a pleading look. His voice wobbled. “I w-wanted to. Tell you. I just…chickened out. I should’ve been brave. I should have been honest with you. Especially after…”

Kurt nodded, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I guess we don’t have the best track record of open communication in our relationship,” he said, pushing the corners of his mouth up by force of will.

"No, we don’t," Blaine agreed. “But I can do better. I can! Please, Kurt, just let me try. No more lies.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Just give me another chance. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Kurt shook his head. “That’s just it, Blaine,” he replied. “I don’t want to know. Not anymore.” He held out the ring again.

Blaine stared at it for a long time. Then, tears started to trickle down his cheeks. It wasn’t the way Kurt was used to seeing him cry. When Blaine was upset, he usually wanted you to know it. It was how he garnered attention for himself at home, Kurt knew, and it usually worked to get what he wanted. But this wasn’t the Rachel-type, overdramatic scrunched up look-at-me crying. It was simple, and sad.

"You can’t do this to me,” he whispered. “I love you. We love each other! Yes, I made a mistake! I know that, but… we  _love_  each other. We’re…we’re  _endgame_! Love conquers all, right?”

Kurt sighed. “We love the  _idea_  of each other. I think we both wanted a boyfriend so badly we were willing to overlook all the signs that told us we weren’t right for each other. We can’t keep ignoring our problems and glossing over our differences for the sake of a fairytale future. This is not a game, Blaine. This is my life, and I get to choose who I want to spend it with.” He took Blaine’s hand and pressed the ring in his unresisting palm. “I’m sorry, but it’s not you.”   

Blaine tightened his fist around the ring. “I don’t know what to do now,” he admitted. “I mean, we live together. We had our future planned together. Everything’s going to change.”

Kurt licked his lips and let out a slow, measured breath. “You  _do_  realize that, for  _me_? Everything changed when I ran into that alley. Things change. Life changes. People die.” He let out a bitter sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “As I am better aware than most people I know.”

He looked at Jacques, then set him down and rose. “I’m not the person I was before, and neither are you.” He walked to the door and held it open as his eyes raked over Blaine wistfully. “I guess you never were. Maybe you and Sam should get a place together?”

“What, you’re just kicking me out?” Blaine’s voice sounded resistant and sulky, like he wanted to keep arguing, but he was too preoccupied. He kept looking back at the ring, which seem to take the fight out of him.

“No. I’ll give you some time to find a place. Elliott and Adam have both offered to put me up until things get sorted out. This is just…” Kurt shook his head and lifted one hand in a half-shrug. “We’re breaking up. There’s no  _nice_ way to divvy up the stuff. The loft is in my name. Unless you want to refund me first and last month’s rent and the deposit and meet with the landlord to sign onto the lease officially.”

“So… So I just find a new place and… and then what? We don’t know each other anymore?” Blaine finally pocketed the ring and focused on Kurt. “We can’t even be friends?”

“We tried that,” Kurt said a bit tersely. “You didn’t want to be friends. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t trust you enough.”

And that was saying something, since he was technically still friends with Rachel and Santana.

The next few moments, as Kurt held the door open silently, were long and awkward. Eventually, Blaine cast a glance over to Elliott, then the frog, and then finally, slipped out the door. Kurt shut it behind him and stared at the floor for a moment. He at once felt completely light and a little dizzy.

“Oh, my God.” Kurt touched his fingertips to his lips.

Elliott strode quickly over to him and enclosed him in a tight hug. “That was so awesome. You did good. Really clear.”

Kurt let Elliott bear his weight for a few minutes. It wasn’t surprising that the encounter had taken so much out of him, and he was glad that he’d spoken to Blaine face to face about it. But as a result, Kurt felt more drained than he had when he’d arrived here the day before.

“You feel okay?” Elliott asked. He guided Kurt back to the couch.

“I think so.”

Kurt sat next to Elliott and rested against his chest. Then he picked up Jacques again and hugged him. Elliott pulled Kurt closer, rubbing his arm, and rested his chin over Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt wouldn’t miss the loft for a few days. It might even help him to settle himself, away from the memories of everything, and away from other people’s ideas of how fast he should be healing.

He looked down on the empty plate on the coffee table.

“Are there any of Adam’s cookies left?”

*  
  
The rest of the day passed in a haze of comfort food, dvds, and Elliott jamming on his guitar and making up crazy songs on the spot to make Kurt laugh. He had insisted on skipping his NYU classes to keep Kurt company (despite Kurt’s assurances that he’d be fine). Dani would be coming over later too to discuss Kurt’s temporary replacement in One Three Hill. She had already texted the two of them that she had talked to the girl from the diner and she was interested. Despite lingering mixed feelings about having a replacement at all, Kurt caught himself planning their songs and outfits for the booked gig- if he couldn’t sing, he’d be their manager for now.

With his mind thus occupied, Kurt hardly thought about Blaine. It wasn’t until his phone lit up, displaying a picture of them together in the background, that he remembered. As of this morning, there was no more Kurt-and-Blaine. He needed to change the picture to something neutral. It wasn’t Blaine calling, however. It was his dad, and the small red bubble on his Skype icon showed he had several missed calls from him already. Kurt swallowed and set down the music pages he had been laying out on Elliott’s bed. His earlier resolve to tell his dad the truth- no faked smiles, no peppy ‘fine’s and ‘don’t worry’s- wavered a little. But his dad cared about him, and Kurt hadn’t been in the closet for some time now. His dad should know what was going on in his life.

“Hey, dad,” he said in a neutral tone, holding his phone out so his father could see his face.

“Kurt! Are you  _okay_? I’ve been callin’ and callin’!” His dad’s cap was visible on Kurt’s screen.

Kurt smiled at it a little, biting his lip. “I am. Could you just… tilt your camera a little, dad? I wanna see- yeah. That’s good. Hi.”

His dad nodded at the camera, and Kurt felt an intense surge of homesickness.

“How’s Carole?” he asked to stall for time.

His father shook his head. “Can we cut the smalltalk here? Blaine said you had a rough time at work and left without telling anyone where you were. He was pretty wrung out about it.”

“I know.”

“You talk to him yet?”

“Yes, we-”

“Good. I know you need your space sometimes. I mean, let’s be real, you don’t let your kid live in the basement lightly. But you’re engaged now, and that means you gotta let people into your life. You can’t cut people out, and keep ‘em at a distance, you know? Blaine’s your fiancé. I know you wanna take care of the world, but it’s his job to take care of  _you_. You should let him.”

“Mmm.”

“Kurt, I’m being serious here. You think I loved hearing you were hurting yesterday, had problems at work, and never even got a call about it? If I can’t be there for you, I wanna know you’ve got someone there to help you through stuff, you know?”

“Yeah.” Kurt looked down and started to lay pages out slowly in order, frowning a little. “Dad?” he asked, wincing a little at how small his voice sounded. His vocal chords still acted up when he got emotional. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Blaine and I broke up.” He looked back at the camera and into his father’s shocked face.

Burt’s eyes were wide, and one eyebrow had shot up to his cap.

“ _What?_ What happened?” Burt asked. “I thought you were doing good together. You said-“

Kurt’s smile tightened a little. “I lied. I didn’t want you to worry. But… I don’t want to have to lie to you about how I’m doing.”

“Well, what happened now? I thought all these problems were done, now that you guys are actually in the same state.” Burt hesitated then glowered at the camera. “Did he-? Was this about what happened? The attack? Can he not handle it, because of the Sadie Hawkins thing? ‘Cause I can understand that, kinda, but he’s supposed to support  _you_ right now. I know shit gets stressful, in a couple, but I don’t care how hard it is.” He started pointing aggressively. “When he asked you to marry him, he signed on for one of the toughest nuts to crack out there.”

Kurt almost smiled. As blunt as his dad was, and as much as he sometimes missed, he really understood how Kurt  _worked._ Kurt licked his lips and shook his head. “It wasn’t about that. He lied… He was never bashed at his old school.”

“He…  _What_?” Burt blinked and stared at Kurt. Kurt could almost see him shifting positions as he mulled that over. “Well, why would…? Huh.”

Kurt sat on the edge of Elliott’s bed and waited, not keen on volunteering more details. Finally his dad spoke up again.

“That’s it? I don’t get it. You broke up because he didn’t get hurt like you?”

"No, it was just the final straw." Kurt sighed. "I haven’t told you everything that went on between us. It’s not that I didn’t  _want_  you to know, but… It’s just…” He raised his free hand and shook his head. “It’s embarrassing. And I wasn’t always sure what to say, or how you’d react, or even what I wanted to do.” He shrugged and sighed again. “But… it’s not the first thing he’s lied to me about.”

He took a deep breath and started telling his father everything, from the overheard conversations with Rachel to the blocked telephone numbers and the cheating and Blaine’s dalliance with Sebastian, and his constant fear that history would repeat itself. Halfway through, Kurt rose and started pacing through the house. Elliott looked at him curiously from the corner where he was tuning his guitar, and Kurt could see the look of discomfort on his face as Kurt described the cheating and everything else that happened before they met— but it was nothing compared to the expression on his dad’s face.

“Are you friggin’ kidding me? And this happened  _before_  Christmas?” Burt asked incredulously. “Before I coughed up money that  _we don’t got_ to bring him to New York to see you?”

“Yes,” Kurt confirmed.

“He  _knew_  I was counting on him to help you out with the cancer thing…” Burt seemed breathless, both vulnerable and angry at the same time. “I know… I mean, I know that you don’t always come to me with everything. I’m not an idiot. We work hard, but we’ve never been-” He regained control for a moment, then boomed: “I was countin’ on him. I could’a brought  _Finn.”_

He got up, stepped away from the camera, and then came back to sit down again. “And you sat through a family dinner with him and me, sang with him, and pretended to enjoy my surprise for what? For me?”

“You were  _sick_ , dad. I didn’t want you to get upset.”

“I can’t believe it! Not a word. Not a single friggin’ word from him about this to me. Not in the plane, not every week afterwards when he was over eating Carole’s cajun chicken, not even when he came up to me to ask if he could ‘have your hand,’ like you’re my _daughter_! He basically asked me for my blessing without telling me the reason you two weren’t even a  _couple_! And then he had the nerve of lecturing me on gay rights when I said no!’”

“Wait.” Kurt stopped his pacing. “You never told me that. You said what you thought didn’t matter. Why didn’t you tell  _me_  that you told him it was a bad idea? I asked you, dad. I actually asked your opinion on my big gay relationship, and you declined to weigh in! I thought that meant you thought it was a good idea, since you drove me to the ‘big event’ and all, and told me I had to give him an answer!”

Burt shrugged uncomfortably. “He asked me before you two had gotten back together. I’d  _just_ gotten my results from the doctor, and you didn’t, y’know, have your brain all together.”

“What is  _that_ supposed to mean?”

“I’ve seen you give me crap about my clothes, Kurt. I’ve never seen you have a meltdown over the colors before. He needed to  _wait_.”

“What, like a week? Was it that much of a difference?”

“You got back together, didn’t you? And I always liked Blaine. Not so much  _now_ , but… Yeah, he was a weird, pushy kid, but he always seemed to want the best for  _you_ , and that’s all I want. Someone to take care of you.”

“I’m neither a pet nor a housewife,” Kurt said shortly.

“Don’t get like that. You know I don’t mean it that way.”

Kurt huffed and rolled his eyes.

“And okay, so, I didn’t tell you that my first reaction wasn’t good, but it was either this guy who was head over heels with you, or this  _older guy_ in New York, and I kinda-” He took off his cap and rubbed his hand over his head. “I thought, Blaine’s a kid and has some crazy boundary issues and dresses like Carole’s great-uncle Sherman, but at least he’s a _decent_  kid, you know?”

Kurt’s face went blank. “You told me to marry Blaine because you didn’t like the idea of me dating a guy you never met?”

“Hey. It’s not like you brought this guy to Lima to meet us-” Burt protested.

“We weren’t ready for that!  _I_  wasn’t ready! That didn’t mean Adam was some kind of creep! It just meant I was being careful after having my heart broken. And you manipulated me into accepting Blaine’s proposal-” Kurt felt himself getting upset. He was gripping his phone tightly, and his hand was starting to shake.

“I wouldn’t have done that if you had told me the truth about Blaine!” his dad countered, sounding equally upset. “You think I want my kid with some asshole who lies to him, and puts him down, and- and cheats on him? He could get you  _sick_ , Kurt. If he’s not careful, he could cheat with the wrong person and  _kill you._  How the  _hell_  can you not tell me all this crap?”

“And risk you having another heart attack?”

“I’m not that fragile!” Burt said loudly.

“Well, neither am I!”

Kurt took a few steadying breaths and tried to calm himself down. “I thought I could deal with it on my own,” he said quietly. “I guess that’s just…It’s how I’ve always dealt with things. _I_ do the laundry. _I_ make the coffee.  _I_ look over the books at the shop.  _I_  make sure you take care of yourself. That’s  _our home_ , dad. And I’m not even there anymore to look after you. I didn’t want you to have to worry about this, too.”

“I’m your  _father_ , Kurt. I’m  _supposed_  to worry about you. I’m supposed to worry about all your stuff, okay. I don’t care if it’s ugly or uncomfortable. My heart’s fine. It’s yours we gotta take care of now.” Burt looked down and shook his head, swallowing hard. “Can ya let me be the dad for once?”

They both said nothing for a moment.

“Are you disappointed?” Kurt asked softly.

“That you lied to me? Maybe a little,” Burt admitted. “That you kicked out a guy who cheated on you, kept you from your friends and made you feel worse about trying to save someone’s life?  _Hell_  no. I’m proud of you, Kurt. And I’m sorry for making you feel like you needed to keep up some sort of charade to protect me.”

Kurt half-shrugged and screwed his lips to the side. “It wasn’t just for you. I wanted that charade to be true as well.”

“So what now?”

“Blaine’s gonna move out. And I’m… I’m thinking of finding someone to talk to. The nurse at the hospital who… stitched up my hands gave me some recommendations. For a professional.” Kurt dragged the last words out a little, focusing on the background behind his father’s face.

“Yeah?” Burt said.

“I know you think therapy is a waste of time-” Kurt started defensively, but Burt shook his head.

“Actually I don’t. You know, this smart guy told me that it can be real helpful, and now that Carole and I are going, I think he was right. I think it’s a good idea. The last couple of weeks, hell, the last year, has been like running a friggin’ gauntlet for you.”

Kurt smiled sadly. “What if they can’t fix me, though?” he said in a small voice.

Burt shook his head resolutely. “You’re not broken, Kurt. You just need someone to help you understand some of the stuff the world throws at you. And everybody knows you’re the strongest person around. Doesn’t mean you can’t get some help. Doctors said it was a good idea, right?”

Kurt nodded. A few tears slipped down his face despite his efforts to stop them.

“Can I see the hands?”

“Um.” Kurt stepped over to the mantel and propped up the phone. “They’re covered in bandages.”

“What in the world do you do at Vogue? Honest to God, I don’t understand what they’ve got goin’ on there that could upset you so bad.”

“It was stupid-”

“I  _bet_  it was stupid. Why do they gotta make selling clothes so complicated?”

Kurt laughed softly, and it made his chest feel much lighter. “That would take a little while to explain. But the set… I’d rather not think about it right now. Could we talk about it later?”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. Don’t need to get you upset. We’ve done enough of that today, huh? Do you wanna talk to Carole?” Burt offered. “She just came in.”

Kurt smiled and nodded again, brushing the tears from his face. His dad was no good with crying, and they both probably needed a moment to recover from this conversation. Carole was the next best thing he had to a mother. She had also never really warmed to Blaine. Somehow, Kurt suspected she would only need a third of his story to pop the champagne out over his decision. He’d gladly accept her positivity, and then spend the rest of his evening watching dvds with Elliott, leaving all important and life-altering choices (like how much of his Vogue salary he could blow on filling the space he made for Blaine’s clothes in his wardrobe) for tomorrow.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: assault, homophobic slurs, violence, dub-con, depression
> 
> A/N : We started this fic after discussions about the spoilers for ‘Bash’ and our suspicions that Glee would handle the plot badly and leave no on-screen time for Kurt to come to terms with the attack. This fic is not for Blaine/Klaine fans.
> 
> Chapter Note: Last Part! Feedback much appreciated!!

In the end, it had only taken Blaine a little less than a week to move out. Kurt had been worried, a little, that Blaine would draw it out, find some other way to try to force Kurt to spend time with him, and drag him back into their relationship like some kind of wicked black hole where the dreams of romantics go to die.

But he didn’t. Rachel gave Kurt a heads up via text after Blaine had moved out. Then Kurt returned with his bandmates and a couple of boxes of the things Dani had snuck over to Elliott’s apartment. The loft was bare of Blaine’s clothes, his hairgel, his dvds and gaming system. He’d also taken the piano, which was for the good, Kurt supposed. It meant that he had settled somewhere.

All he knew was that Sam had not moved in  _with_  Blaine, like Kurt would have guessed. While Kurt had been staying with Elliott, Sam had called every other day, eventually earning himself a spot on Elliott’s couch one evening while Elliott was at work. The result had been, predictably, Sam grabbing Jacques and doing impressions of celebrities, and an eerily accurate, and hysterical, Blaine, until Kurt was practically in tears. Which was how he’d learned of the Blam! Breakup.

Kurt didn’t quite have it in his heart to wish Blaine well, yet, but he knew in time, like so many of the adversaries in Kurt’s life, the need to even wonder about Blaine would fade.

Rachel was still busy with her Broadway life, so Kurt mostly had the loft to himself. They’d talked on the phone the day after he’d broken up with Blaine, and she’d promised to devote her Monday night off to him, but Kurt hadn’t made it back until Thursday. Then, on Friday night, after Elliott and Dani had to go for the day, and Adam was working early in the morning, she found him on the couch, enjoying the art of being able to hold his own cup, kind of.

“Oh, hey! Free man!” Rachel set down her shopping bags and came to sit with by him.

“Yep. Outta the cage, onto the town,” Kurt quipped dryly.

Rachel clapped her hands together. “Oh, we could go out clubbing! Do a little dancing, try out a few new guys?”

Kurt furrowed his brow at her.

“What? I’m just trying to be supportive!” She shrugged and turned her body closer to him. “I didn’t catch all of it, but… Sam told me some. That’s crazy! I mean I led you by the hand to the proposal, and I didn’t even know about the Sadie Hawkins thing.  And I feel… like…” She bent each word slowly. “ _Maybe…_  I could’ve done more. Been there for you more.”

“Yeah. You could’ve been.” Kurt pulled one leg up and sipped his tea.

“I, uh…” Rachel leaned forward. “Kurt-”

“You could’ve been there for me,” Kurt said quietly. “You chose not to.”

Rachel pressed one hand to her chest. “Kurt, you know, I’ve had-”

“I  _know_  you’ve had your Fanny.” Kurt took another sip and put his tea down. “I know how important this role is to you, Rachel. I signed you up for the audition because I knew it would just kill you not to have the chance. And I  _do_  understand-” He held his freshly bandaged hands to the heavens. “-Broadway above all things. But you’re not doing the show 24/7, and you could’ve been there for me more.  _And_ I needed you.”

Rachel looked caught between protesting and guilt.

“I’ve always been there for you. Every step of the way. I’m not asking you to give up your dreams, but it hurt to see you avoiding me.” He looked at her seriously and held up one finger. “And you  _know_ , if the roles were reversed, and I was gearing up for the debut of a gender-swapped  _Wicked_ , I would have made the time for you.”

Kurt rose and took his cup. It was nice to have his basic dexterity back. “I’m going to bed. Elliott took me to my first therapy session today, and I’m kind of exhausted.”

“No, Kurt. It’s early. I have time  _now_! We could hang out. Talk trash about our lying exes!” She hopped up and followed him into the kitchen. “We can order pizza! Well, okay, my cheat day isn’t until Monday, but I can stick to soy yogurt and warm water with lemon after the weekend.”

Kurt put his cup in the sink.

“Please? Kurt…” Rachel pleaded. “I know I haven’t been a great friend lately. But… you’re my best friend. I’m not close with a lot of other people in New York.”

He sighed. “Okay, but  _you’re_  paying.”

*

“So it went okay around the office at Vogue yesterday. It’s not like I’m not  _allowed_ on photoshoots, though maybe I shouldn’t be, but Isabelle and I talked about starting back kind of slow.” Kurt dipped his spoon into his strawberry cheesecake ice cream and shaved off a small amount from the sides. “So I’m doing a lot of organizational work. Which benefits my need to control… everything.”

Adam chuckled. He sucked on his own plastic spoon, then took a little more of his own apple pie ice cream. “You do look nicely relaxed right now.”

Kurt looked up at the full, leafy trees, the bright buildings, the people passing by. He hadn’t thought he’d be outside and on the street again this soon, feeling so calm, but with Adam, it felt like he could.

“I think… I’m having a good day.” He stopped at the corner, and pressed his hand against his left hipbone. His jeans kept rubbing over his new tattoo, just inked yesterday, and it was sore enough without the rubbing. “Don’t quote me on it.”

“I’m just happy you wanted come out with me today.” Adam gave his spoon a lick. “Of course, I did bribe you with ice cream.”

“You can always bribe me with ice cream. Or cake.”

They enjoyed their cold treats for a moment in comfortable silence as they walked down the street. Then Kurt noticed Adam glancing at him from the side and gave him a curious look.

"You know," Adam started, "when I picked you up at the loft, I  _noticed_  something that I hadn’t before the last time I was over.”

“The fresh, clean air free of the suffocating stench of raspberry hairgel?”

Adam’s brows raised in tandem as he angled his head back. “The Apples posters!”

“Oh,  _that._ ” Kurt smiled coyly as they crossed the street together. “They just so  _happen_  to be very… visually appealing. And they match the rest of the colours I have up on that wall. I’d have to re-do the whole collage if I took them down.”

“Mm-hm.”

A moment later, Adam bumped his shoulder, and Kurt laughed.

“You kept me around.” Adam beamed, sounded a bit chuffed. (A word Kurt had learned from Adam and quietly loved.)

“Well. I did miss you. Watching  _Downton Abby_  and  _Doctor Who_  just wasn’t the same without you,” Kurt teased. “I didn’t have anyone to explain the references and jokes.”

Adam smiled and dipped his head.

“ I…” Kurt’s tone softened. “I never meant to cut you out of my life completely.”

“That wasn’t entirely your fault.”

The two of them stopped short as a large, stocky man cut into their space before disappearing into the crowd. Adam touched Kurt’s shoulder and watched him silently.

Kurt let out a slow breath and shook his head. “It’s a good day.”

Adam continued watching him, a little more discreetly, as they headed down the street. Kurt sighed and pulled at the edge of his jeans, as though that might make the soreness disperse a little.

“Are you alright, darling?” Adam said suddenly in concern. “You look like you’re hurting.”

“Oh, no. I’m a little sore. Elliott took me to get another tattoo yesterday, and it’s always tender for a few days afterward.”

Adam craned his head back and raked his eyes over Kurt, as though he might see the tattoos through his clothes. “ _Another_  tattoo?”

“”Uhhh…” Kurt chuckled softly. “Ye-eah. I have a couple of tattoos now.”

“Kurt Hummel, tattooed?” Adam shook his head and laughed. “I didn’t know you were the type. I always imagined you to be very picky about your skin.”

“Oh, I  _am._  Didn’t you see my evening routine when you slept over at Elliott’s?”

“What do they look like?”

“Um, there’s one on my shoulder.” Kurt dashed over to a trash can and dropped in his ice cream cup, then edged them over away from the flow of the street traffic. He slipped his loose brown sweater down to his elbows, then pushed his yellow and white striped shirt down to reveal the “It’s Got Bette Midler” script over his right shoulder blade.

“I also got a tongue piercing shortly afterward,” Kurt babbled as Adam leaned over to check out his tattoo, “but I had to take it out so I could sing in class, and it healed up.”

“Wow,” Adam muttered.

Kurt pulled his sweater back on and lifted the hem of his jeans. Adam dropped down to look. “And this one’s for my brother. I really, really wish you could’ve met him. I loved him so much.”

On the his ankle, there was a small treble clef with the words “Porcelain and Frankenteen” written along the inside curve of the clef.

“Was he Frankenteen?” Adam asked gently, his eyes crinkling.

“Yeah.” Kurt laughed. “He was  _so_ tall. He just towered over me. And everyone else.”

Adam rose and looked on Kurt gently.

“I think about him all the time. I just wanted him to be a part of me, I guess. Something that shows how he’s written on my heart, just as much as my body.”

Adam nodded.

“You would’ve liked him,” Kurt said wistfully.

“And the one from yesterday?”

“To commemorate a big change in my life.” Kurt touched the hem of his shirt. “But, um… I can’t show it to you.”

“Tease! Why?”

Kurt lowered his voice, even though no one was listening to them. “Because I’d have to take off my pants for you to see it.”

Adam’s eyes grew comically large. “It’s, uh, it’s on on your…?”

“Hip.”

“ _Oh._ ” Adam shook his head. “I thought you meant something else.” He blushed a little. “What is it, then?”

Kurt pressed his lips together in a mischievous smile and shook his head. “I can’t explain, you’d have to see it.”

“Oh, come on! How can you leave me hanging like that?” Adam laughed.

Kurt laughed along, and as he came down, still chuckling, realised he hadn’t had such care-free fun in a long time.

“Maybe later,” he teased. He looked out to the sidewalk, and when there was a lull, started walking again. They were reaching the Hudson river. A lot of couples were strolling by the waterfront. To distract himself from focusing on all of their hand-holding, Kurt decided to share something he had been thinking about for the past few days and get Adam’s opinion on it.

"I am thinking of maybe volunteering for the Ambrose-King Community Center," he said, looking out over the water and the buildings on the other side of the river. "That’s…"

"Where the memorial was, I remember," Adam supplied.

"K’evondra told me that they could use some people with musical expertise. School arts programs are getting cut left and right.” Kurt shrugged one shoulder forward. “And when you think of ‘musical expertise,’ of course that would include  _moi_.” He looked out over the river and his smile faded. “I’ve been thinking, a lot, about, you know, the attack, and what I would do if someone needed help again…”

He faltered for a moment, while Adam watched him. Thankfully, Adam didn’t push him to keep going, so after a long moment of silence, Kurt felt ready to continue.

“I think what scares me is the  _inevitability_  of it. That wasn’t the first time I stuck my neck out to help someone. I did it back in school, and I’ve done it here, on the subway. That’s how-” Kurt stopped walking for a moment and took a breath, and Adam angled his body more towards Kurt without crowding him. “I mean, I don’t want to think  _too_  intensely about it right now because I’m having such a  _good day_ \- but I get triggered on the subway  _because_ I’m thinking about how I’ve stepped in when people were having trouble. It happens, and I don’t think I can stop being a person who cares about that.”

Adam’s eyes creased at the corners, and he sucked in his cheeks slightly before responding. “That makes me worry about you a little, Kurt.”

“It worries my dad, too.” Kurt let out a slow breath through circled lips. “For me, though, I know myself. I can’t live in the world and not get involved. It’s part of who I  _am_. Maybe as much a part as Vogue or Broadway. I feel maybe if I volunteered at the center, I could make this all worth something, you know? The people at the memorial were  _so good_ at taking care of each other. I think I need to  _help_.”

“I understand. I mean, I think that’s a natural feeling to have…” Adam slipped his hands into his back pockets. An anxious gesture that Kurt was starting to recognize. Adam gave a gentle shrug. “At the same time, though… Kurt, you have work—  _two_  jobs— that you’re returning to, school to catch up on, a band you are still very much involved in, and your own recovery, which, I personally think, is very,  _very_  important.”

“I’m not going to stop going to therapy,” Kurt argued. “I can do the healing thing and still volunteer.”

“I’m not putting in a vote against helping those in need,” Adam said in a measured voice. He slipped his hands out of his pockets and moved them around in a curious gesture. “I simply… I  _care_  about you. And you have a  _tendency_. It is illustrated, perhaps exemplified by what happened in that alley. You always defended me, and the Apples, more than you defended yourself. You will help other people until you die of it, Kurt, and that makes you a hero. But you’ve only got so much energy, so many resources. I plead of you to be selfish a bit longer, and to be careful not to take on too much.”

Kurt found himself unsure of what to say to Adam’s impassioned, impromptu speech. He hadn’t really put much thought into how much energy he would need to help underprivileged teenagers; he was just filled with the idea of doing it. Not so far from how he’d approached other projects, actually. Writing  _Pip Pip Hooray_ had happened so fast that Pippa hadn’t the chance to break up with her male lead in real life. Promoting the school play during senior year had gone from concept to execution practically overnight. The band had been something he’d wanted to do with Finn, but was denied the chance to ever have that collaboration. As he’d taken in Finn’s scent, wearing his jacket, all the ideas he’d had came rushing back, all the things he would never get to do with his brother. Time was precious, so he’d sprung into action to make it happen without reservation, and he had made two new friends in the process.

At no moment did he ever consider these things as too much, on top of his other responsibilities.

“I guess I just thought I’d have more time on my hands. Rachel’s hardly around, and now that I’m no longer raising Blaine… Who do I take care of?” Kurt haplessly raised his hands.

Adam’s somber expression broke into a laugh. “I’m not very good at ‘throwing shade,’ but I’m glad we get to do that for your ex,  _finally_.”

Kurt knit his brows together and stopped by the rail over the river. Adam came up beside him, and they both leaned on the rail.

“I think I have to do this, though. Maybe I can wait… a little while? Maybe I can get some help with it.” Kurt looked down at the scars on his hands. He liked running his fingertips over them. Some were closer to being healed, and they provided smooth texture against the grooves of his fingers and palm. “It’s not even just replacing the work Kitt was doing at the center, though he did help with their community. I thought I could get back to being my old self, who I was before all of this. You know, the Kurt Hummel who is always the better person, who always rises above everything, who can be an inspiration to his friends, who can be everything to them, and… I don’t think I want to anymore. Because I don’t have room for it anymore, not if I want to focus my energies  _outward_. And Kitt’s a _part of me_  now in a way I just can’t explain.”

Kurt gestured toward nothing specific. “ _Not_  in a spiritual way, because I don’t believe in that stuff, but…” He swallowed and stared down at the soft undulations of the water below. “He’s  _with_  me. Like Finn’s with me. I’m not entirely sure how much I’ve changed, but I think I don’t mind so much anymore that I did.”

Turning his head toward Adam, Kurt whispered, “Does that make sense?”

"Yes, it does," Adam replied. He sounded a little hoarse, and he was looking at Kurt the same way he had looked when Kurt had defended the Apples in front of him for the first time; awed and with unabashed admiration. It made Kurt feel proud and shy at the same time. He held eye contact with Adam as long as he could, then looked away over down the walkway. Everywhere he looked there were still couples. It seems he had inadvertently chosen some sort of Lovers’ Walk of Manhattan.

"You know, Rachel will be out all night, she said not to expect her till morning," he said, trying to sound casual. "We could pick up some Chinese food on the way to the loft and get a crack on _Downton Abbey_ season four…I haven’t seen any of those yet.” He glanced to the side and saw Adam was still looking at him. “And I could show you my new tattoo,” he added airily, and turned back to face Adam with a smile.

His expression wasn’t the one Kurt had expected. Adam looked troubled, like there were a million things on his mind and he wasn’t sure what to pick to say first.

"Kurt, I’m not sure…" he started, but trailed off. "You only  _just_  broke up with Blaine-“

Kurt hurried to explain. “Oh, but I didn’t mean  _that_ ,” he said, “not that I haven’t missed that too…” He could feel a blush creep onto his cheeks. “It’s just…I don’t want this day with you to end. For weeks everything, just  _being_ , felt hard. When I’m around you, it’s easy. I feel safe with you. You don’t make me feel less than I am, but I don’t need to be more either. I am… enough.” He shook his head a little. What was it with this spot of lovers that made him go all philosophical? “I just want us to hang out on the couch and watch our show until we get tired, and then move to my bedroom to watch another episode on my laptop until we fall asleep. Can we do that?”

Adam’s troubled expression softened into a smile. “Yes. I think we can.”

Kurt reached for Adam’s hand, grasped a few fingers, and tugged gently. Together, they turned, and walked toward the subway. Neither spoke. They had said everything that needed to be said, for now. The light was beginning to fade on this good, good day, but with the promise of light to come. Kurt knew there were more days like this ahead for him, even if they were followed by some bad. Both, along the way, would be okay. Of that, Kurt was finally sure.

_la fin_

**❤ **❤ **❤******


End file.
